The Taming of the Shrew
by babygumm07
Summary: Adaptation of William Shakespeare's play. AU. Lord Fiyero Tiggular must tame the temper and the heart of the willful Shrew of Munchkinland if he is to have a long and happy marriage, but this lady is not for turning. Fiyeraba.
1. The Maiden and the Shrew

**_Author's Note: _**_I am nearing the end of my most recent Wicked fanfic and I have several chapters of this one and left it for quite a while. I want to publish this one for you now, essentially to test the waters. If you like it then I will publish the rest, but to be honest I'm becoming a little disheartened with working so hard on fictions only to have no response from you guys a few chapters down the line. So please let me know if you're enjoying it otherwise I won't keep writing. Thanks very much!_

_Not that it needs to be explained, but it is the Shakespeare comedy set in Oz. As the story develops, I will veer from the original plot because the characteristics of some of the principle figures don't mesh fully with the characters of Oz and I don't simply want to rewrite the play as though Baum and Maguire had come before Shakespeare.  
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_Enjoy.  
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_As always, I own nothing of either Shakespeare, Baum, or Maguire's creations.  
_

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"I declare myself to be fully content with this beautiful young city. What say you, Tibbett?"

The older man chuckled, clutching his lapel with a withered and wrinkled hand. "The city is far from young, sir. Nevertheless the feeling is very much a mutual one." He gestured to the town square in which they stood surrounded by the busy life of market people bronzed from years of working in the sun. "'Tis a fair city indeed." He observed.

Boq nodded, rolling back on his heels to better gain a view of the bustling streets. "Huzzah! What a city it is! I have travelled about this land for many years and had the benefit of the best and most endowed institutions of learning. Shiz, Gillikin and the Emerald City have been my playgrounds for many a year now and I return to my homeland, a mind filled with knowledge and an insatiable lust for logic, literature and science." Boq tapped the supple leather strap of his valise which lay across his chest and together they strolled along one side of the square. Their heels clicked proudly on the terracotta paving. "I am eager as a schoolboy on his first day of fractions. Is there no more alluring concept than that of the dry rush from paper, pen and master?"

"I think you show your years, young sir, when you declare yourself so." Boq creased the smooth skin of his forehead with a bemused frown. Tibbett continued. "You are not yet five and twenty! My good man, I admire your forthrightness and your resolve to educate and inform yourself. This is indeed an attitude not easily found in many minds of young men today." Boq nodded his thanks for the compliment. He had always liked this manservant. "Perhaps, however, there is something to be said for matching that lust for logic, as you say, with an equal passion for pleasure?"

"And what other pleasure could I possibly hope to find that would not be present in my studies, which have for these last twenty years been the sole focus and joy of my life?" He asked, naively.

"You might seek the happiness of a tankard of mead, a raucous crowd or a woman." Tibbett offered.

"Those baseborn pleasures so enjoyed by the lower classes?" He asked with distaste.

"Some might say there is much to be learned from those living outside of the ivory tower in which you have ensconced yourself for far too long." Boq considered his servant's proposition. "Life is not fulfilled when one walks along merely one path. True satisfaction and wisdom, I might add, may only be known if one is willing to pepper oneself with many different winding lanes and beaten tracks. Let us be neither stoics nor stocks and temper learning with a love of gratification."

Boq offered his hand the two men shook in agreement. "I am glad you said this to me, Tibbett. You advise me very well, and always have. We must send for Crope at once, my other servant and your lesser, so that we may make this plan a reality at once!" He declared happily, delighted to have a new idea to explore. Tibbett hoped he would not approach this in a studious manner. "With him by our side we must rent a lodging as soon as possible that would be fit to entertain the myriad of friends as Munchkinland shall produce!" They laughed together in anticipation of their fun. "But stay a moment; what company is this?"

Tibbett stopped their walk and indicated a tightly spaced alley to their right. A large group emerged from the distance and made their way to the square in a cacophony of visceral shouts and spitting. "Ah, I see my point is proven for me, sir." Tibbett remarked, stepping to the side to allow the party through. "Perhaps a performing troupe comes! A fine welcome to the city, sir." He said, the joke not lost on his young master.

The first man to speak was a perfectly bald middle-aged man clad in a blood red muslin cloak and fine, tall, black hat shaped in part like a diamond. A man of position and substance it would seem to the two younger observers. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and concerned. "Gentleman, trouble me no more." He said, addressing the men who followed him hotly. "I am firmly resolved not to bestow my youngest daughter to any man before I have found a husband for the elder." The men appeared utterly crestfallen. Boq and Tibbett exchanged glances; glad to have an intrigue to amuse them so early in their day. "I know and love you well and so I offer you my daughter Elphaba. Leave you shall have to court her at your pleasure."

Every man turned to the lady in question. Both Boq and Tibbett worked hard to contain their gasp of horror at the sight that greeted their sore eyes. The gentleman to whom the elder man had been speaking performed no such courtesy and groaned audibly, so much so that the young woman – if indeed she _was_ a women, for who could tell? – heard their outcry and despair and turned a vicious eye to them.

Her skin was a sinful shade of green. No man would have believed it, least of all the young learned man of letters whose expression hardly contained his amazement upon laying eyes on the lady. She was tall and proud and her features would have been handsome and alarmingly captivating had it not been for the admittedly shocking hue of her pigmentation. Boq wondered what hideous affliction or illness had caused such a terrible disability. When she strode forward it was with menacing power and anger, and every man, woman and child wisely removed themselves from her path.

Of the two gentleman whom they had yet to meet, the taller spoke to the shorter, hiding his face from the view of the green woman and remarking, "To _court_ her? To cart her rather, for she is too rough for me!" He moved a pace away from his friend and declared loudly. "There, there, Hortensio," he said to his mate, "will you take any wife?"

"Sir!" The vile woman dryly said to her father. "Is it your will to humiliate me, showing me off as a whore in front of these mates?" Her voice was haughty, sarcastic and she spoke of men as dismissively as one would speak of a discarded paper in a wicker bin. She seemed indifferent to her vulgar tongue. She laughed and ignored the gentleman until the one who had not yet been named but who presently was the only one of the two to have uttered a word, replied to her.

"Mates, maid?" He cackled. "No mates for you, Shrew, unless you were of a gentler and milder mould." He nodded to the young maid who stood quietly and graciously behind the Shrew – as she had apparently been named, Boq could not recall what her other was, though he was certain her father had mentioned it. This young lady was a gloriously beautiful young girl. In many ways she bore similar looks to her sister but they were made all the more attractive by her clear white skin and the calm, quiet manner in which she conducted herself.

The Shrew scoffed at the comparison. "Ha! By my oath, sir, you shall never need to fear such a thing. The only interest I would have in you is to hit you across the head with a stool, paint your face with your blood and make an utter fool of you!" She shrieked, stamping across to stare the man in the face. He paled, whether in anger or fear, one could not know.

He blessed himself, for all the good it would do him when faced with such a woman. "From all such devils may the Lord preserve and deliver me!" He exclaimed.

"And me, too! Good Lord!" Echoed the man who was named Hortensio.

Tibbett then turned to his master as a frightened silence descended on the group for a short moment, his voice a mere whisper, lest they attract the dragon to their presence. "Oh master, what a pastime this is! The wench is stark mad or stupidly wilful."

"But the other, Tibbett," he replied in an equally hushed tone, "the other is silent I see. That maid is mild and all sobriety. Be peaceful, Tibbett."

"As you will it, master."

The young maiden who was the admiration of all men appeared distressed at her sister's harshness and shamefulness, and it was a hard man whose heart did not ache to bring her comfort, to ease her suffering with sweet wines and fruits. Her father being the only man at present with such a right at that time, went to her. He placed a gentle arm on her delicate shoulder and spoke in a gentle voice. "Since I should like to make good on my promises, dearest Nessarose, do take yourself inside. Try not to be unhappy, my love, for I shall love you nevertheless." He bestowed her with a kiss on her forehead.

Elphaba rolled her eyes in sullenness. "The stupid, spoiled brat would cry if only she could find a reason."

Nessarose passed her elder sister as she obeyed her father, and looked up to her. Her voice when she appealed to the woman was so light with sadness that every ear was turned and tuned to her word. "Sister, be content in my discontent. I humbly obey our father and take up the company of my instruments and books, which I do hereby practise by myself." With no further words and no immodest glances to any man, though many would have joyfully held her attention, she crossed quietly to the red wooden door of the finest house in the square. The family were of severe import, and maidservants abandoned the green sister in favour of accompanying the white.

Boq gripped his man's shoulder. "Listen, man! 'Tis the very voice of our goddess Lurline you hear!" He exclaimed.

Hortensio gazed longingly after the maid, then turned in a wild frenzy to the girl's father. "Sir Frexspar, I beg you, will you be so strange and cruel? I much dislike that our goodwill so affects Nessarose's grief!"

The other, shorter gentleman said, "Aye! Why are you locking her up for this fiend from very hell, and insisting on this endurance of her tongue?"

Frexspar held up a powerful hand and sent the crowds which had descended into uproar in agreement with the two gentlemen into silence. "Content yourselves, men. I am resolved, the decision is made. I am on guard for tutors for my youngest, since she is made so happy by her music and her talents thereof that I wish to please her further. I must find a man fit to instruct her, and if you, Hortensio, or you Gremio, know of any such man, do send them hither. I shall pay well for good teaching for my children." He dismissed them and his long cloaks flew majestically about his person as he walked with purpose to his door. "Goodbye gentlemen. Elphaba, you may stay. I needs must speak with Nessarose." He turned inside the dark entrance hall which many men fervently wished to enter.

"What? And I trust I may go, too? Am I to be scolded as a child? Am I to be appointed hours during which I may come and which I may go? As though I know not when to leave and when to stay! Ha!" She screamed after him, and followed him in a storm of her own black skirts to the house.

"You may go to hell!" Gremio bellowed, his face red with rage and his finger thrust angrily into the air in her direction. His collar was like to burst from his neck at such unrepentant discomfort. "Your gifts and talent are such that there are none who would dare hold you!" He said, though Boq was quite certain that he would not have been half so brave had the Shrew been within earshot. "Hortensio, listen. Our desire to be married is not so great that we cannot withstand the wait, is it? We may and we shall wait out the time until Elphaba is married." Hortensio nodded, the two men hot with resolve and sun stroke. "I bid you farewell, and yet in faith if I can shed light on any man to aid in Nessarose's teaching, which will foster her delight, then I will spirit him to her father."

"Wait, make peace with me for a further moment, Gremio." His companion said, taking the man's shoulder. He had a look of happy intrigue on his face and a devious smile. "We have never been great friends, and yet I think that now we find ourselves in a situation which could serve us both. We may yet have access to the fair maiden if we work as one, and if we wish to have any chance of returning to the chase for her affection."

Gremio eyed his mate suspiciously. "What is this, I ask?"

"Why, to get a husband for her sister!"

He balked at the words. "A husband? A devil more like!"

"I mean a husband." Hortensio repeated, determined to impart his grave seriousness.

Gremio shook his head. "In faith, I think you mean a devil! Be real, though her father is rich, and her dowry is large indeed, do you honestly believe any man in this land would be fool enough to be married to hell itself?"

"Oh hush, Gremio. Though her words and temper are beyond our patience, why, there are good fellows in the world and light can be shed on them by any man who would take her with all her faults, if there were enough money involved." Hortensio reasoned. His had rested happily on his hip in fearless response to his scheme.

Gremio remained decidedly uncertain and unconvinced. "I cannot tell. But I would be rather be whipped naked at the high church every morning than endure her and her wild tempers. No matter the money."

"You make a fair point, friend." Hortensio relented. "But since it seems we have no choice in the matter let us work together to find a husband for Frexspar's eldest daughter, regardless, so we might free his youngest for sweet matrimony and so we might return to our roles as rivals." The two men laughed, and Hortensio gestured to Nessarose's closed window. "Happy is the man who wins your heart and bed Nessarose! And may the best man win! What say you, Gremio?"

"I am agreed!" They cheered and snickered. "I would give this as yet imaginary suitor for Elphaba the best horse in Munchkinland that he might wed her, bed her, and rid the house of her! Let us go." With those words, they burst through the reforming and amused crowds to return down the alley from whence they had originally come.

Boq walked out into the centre of the square now, that he might better view the window of the beautiful maiden Nessarose, whose charm had to quickly captured him. "Tibbett." he called his manservant, who walked to join his master with unease; this kind of thing was certainly not what he had meant by entertaining the people and friends of Munchkinland.

The man was alarmed. "Sir, Boq, is it possible that love has taken such hold with such haste?"

"Oh dear Tibbett, til it had happened to me just now I never thought it possible. But look, it has taken me while I stood idly looking on. I confess to you now, the art of love is now a secret to me. Tibbett, I burn, I pine, and I would perish if I could not achieve the love and attention of this modest maiden." He sighed, his hand draped languidly over his heart. "Give me counsel, Tibbett. I know you can and have. Give me some assistance, I know you will."

Tibbett considered his request for a moment, stealing looks between his master and the window of affection. "Well, master." He started. "I shall not lecture you now. If love has touched your heart then it is here to stay. However, I will say this, if this is the path you wish to walk, then I would advise that you try to make it as smooth as possible."

Boq grinned, his heart filling and overflowing. He had never quite felt like he did at that moment and wondered if this was not what his servant had meant when he chastised him to look for other pleasures. "Yes, yes. You are right, do go on."

Tibbett braved his master's reply with his next words, hoping he bore in mind the many previous times he had afforded him with generous thoughts. "Master, I think perhaps you looked so well and ache so much from the maid from afar that you did not mark the point of it all."

"Indeed no. I saw it all. Such sweet beauty in her face that I thought she must be the Ozma returned to us!"

Tibbett laughed at his young master's youthful innocence. "And that was all? Noticed you not how her sister scolded her such that no human ear could possibly withstand the din?"

Boq squinted in the sun. "I saw how Nessarose's lips breathed words into the air like fine, light perfume from a faience bottle. She was all that is sacred and sweet."

"Wake up sir!" Tibbett yelled, smacking the lovesick student on the back harshly and scolding his stupidity. "You must learn how to win her. This sister is so crude, rude, base and difficult that her father quite obviously cannot wait to be rid of her." A wave of realization came over Boq and his eyes lit up in glee. "Until he is rid of her, your little sweetheart must remain a maid at home and banned from meeting with any suitors."

"Curse such a cruel father!" Boq shrieked, causing Tibbett to doubt the rationale of their journey here, he rubbed his bearded chin in deep thought. The two men pottered about as though they had never faced such a problem before in their lives. "Still," Boq said, his keen mind thinking at the speed of the Gillikin horses during the ton's seasonal races. "Did you take note of how he cared to get a cunning schoolmaster for his daughter's instruction?"

Tibbett's head snapped up and the hand which had held his head now clicked in triumph. "I did – and now I have it!"

"Tibbett! I have it!"

The servant laughed, his own heart racing now. "Ah, master. Both our inventions meet and jump hand in hand."

Boq smiled. "Tell me yours first, man."

Tibbett tipped his head back with pride. "You shall be schoolmaster and undertake the teaching of the maid. Was this your device, too?" Boq informed him that it was and voiced his concern over its plausibility. They entered an establishment opposite the famed house to develop their plot. The swift and cool air which greeted them was a welcome departure from the heat and dust of the streets and they lowered their voices to accommodate the hushed room in which they were now sheltered. The servant was troubled, however. "I think there is not much chance of it working, though. Who shall play your part here in Munchkinland? For you, Vincentio's son, are meant to be studying in this fair city. Who shall tend his servants, drink his wine, attend his lectures and take up residence in his lodgings?"

"Enough. I have figured it out." Boq whispered, the two men leaning close to one another over a small dark wood table in a dark corner as they were served hot water in a brightly painted short vase, accompanied by similarly decorated tea cups and an array of colourful tea bags. The scent was overwhelmingly attractive. "We have not yet been seen here. No one can distinguish our faces by either man or master. Therefore, you shall be master, Tibbett, in my stead. You shall keep house and servants as I should. I shall be . . . I shall be some other philistine, some man from abroad; perhaps the Emerald City or that great seat of learning, Shiz. There! What a plan!" Before the water was gone cold, the men agreed upon the plan and quietly exchanged the other's garb. When this was completed, they had passed two hours and the servant Crope approached the table. "Here comes my other man, Crope!"

"Good Lord, what is this trickery? Has the servant Tibbett stolen your clothes, master? I confess I had not known his tendency to dress in another's costume to have surfaces! What is this? What is going on?" He begged, his small frame shaking and his nose wrinkling in distress.

"Quiet man!" Boq hissed. He explained in detail his plan to disguise himself as a strange man to take up the office of Nessarose's tutor, and related in full the dramatic episode they had witnessed in the square earlier. "So now, Tibbett is 'Boq' and you are not to utter a word of this!"

"Not a word." Crope repeated dutifully. "I wish I could say the same." He said.

Tibbett sneered. "As would I, if it meant the achievement of your master's goal. This is for his sake, not mine. And to that end, you shall not breathe a hint of this until such a time as Nessarose is his to call wife. Use your manners discreetly in all company. When I am alone, why then I am Tibbett, but in all places else, I am your master, Boq."

"Indeed." Boq finished, ensuring the second servant understood and complied with their plan. "And Tibbett, as long as you are masquerading as your master, it would be better for you to also court and attempt to attain the affection of young Nessarose. Lest any man wonder why such an illustrious figure as Vincentio's son is stupid that he cannot notice the prize that she would be to bed."

Once they were all understood and all in agreement, the men exited the place and took up their happy roles to be performed until the perfect conclusion was within Master Boq's grasp.

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_Drop me a review and let me know what you think please. Thank you! _


	2. The Tamer

**_Author's Note: _**_I disclaim any ownership of any work by Shakespeare or Maguire.  
_

_I really do love this story so so much, and I hope you guys do too. These first chapters are very long, but the scenes are important. I love the way Shakespeare and Maguire work in characteristics and plot developments; writing this has been the most fun experience ever! Enjoy!  
_

_I am warning you - this is a new side of playboy Fiyero - and he doesn't take any shit.  
_

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From the Vinkus, Lord Tiggular Fiyero took his leave. The hot, dry and roasting summers of that mountainous landscape were but memories in his mind's eye and only now evident in his tanned skin and slight accent. He was a tall, proudly built man with heavy gold coins in his purse and a will of iron. He had been raised wealthy in the courts and high halls of the Vinkun court, and had left it behind for one of his many trips to the other states of the Land of Oz. He adored his holidays from duty as a mother doted on her child. He regularly nourished and educated this child, whom he thought he was raising to be a fine specimen, equal to no man, but superior to all.

If he were truthful to himself, he would admit that as he approached the thirtieth year of his birth he really ought to take some sort of a wife. If he were honest, he ought to think about raising a real flesh-and-blood child instead of the metaphorical one he honed in his mind. His only hurdle was that the fictional son required much less effort. Helping him over the hurdle was the reassuring thought that in reality no such hurdle existed. A woman is not hard to find. A good woman is hard to find, perhaps, but not for one such as Lord Tiggular.

"Farewell Kiamo Ko!" He said, to no-one in particular, and yet waved his hand in some vague direction as though the Vinkus was directly behind him, and should he turn it would greet his eyes, huge and looming as it was. His groom, Avaric, stood dolefully next to him, not bothering to feign interest in his task. He never had, so he saw no reason to start now. He saw himself as mere comic vitality in his Lord's service. "I'm here to visit my friends and most particularly Hortensio!"

Avaric grimaced. "You've lost your mind, my liege Lord. To whom are you telling this _fascinating _tale? I happen to be aware of the reason for your presence here." Fiyero only slapped his back playfully and breathed in the scent of the square of Munchkinland as though it were the only place in Oz to offer oxygen for the lungs or the only vineyard for wine. "And your reasons have little to do with visiting friends. Unless by friends you mean those you intend to make in whorehouses." He said to himself, with a secret hope that it was the truth. Avaric had a taste for those loose ladies himself.

"Ah Avaric. You kid." The master said. Whether meaning in jest or in maturity, neither cared to know. "Ah! Here is the house, I think." He declared and gestured to the red door in front of them. Carved into stone above the door were the words 'Colwen House' and 'Thropp' was engraved on a golden panel to their right. "Here, Avaric, knock."

"Knock?" Avaric began in a tone Fiyero knew could mean only mischief. Perchance his manservant would prefer to earn his living juggling with his puns on the street. "Why should I knock? Whoever had offended you?" He asked delightfully, his pink face clashing badly with his Royal Blue suit. Fiyero could have sworn Avaric concealed bells somewhere on his person. He had half a mind to search him.

"Moron! I'm telling you to make a fist and pound!" Fiyero growled, his fists almost colliding with Avaric's face as he violently gestured in accordance with his anger.

"My good Lord! I think it would hardly be appropriate for me to pound you!" He jested again, imagining his eyes twinkling with glee.

"Moron! Here is the door." He said as though Avaric were a simple-minded child. "Now pound your fists to the door or I'll put mine to work on your damned head!"

"Ooh now my master is being difficult! If I do as he says I think I know who will be the sorrier, and it won't be him!"

Fiyero sighed, rubbing his eyes with his tired fingers. "What are you standing there for? Why did I even bring you? If you won't knock, I'll ring and you'll be singing along in falsetto!" He threatened and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him relentlessly as though the effort would bring him to lead a meaningful existence in his master's eyes.

He only yelled and mewled ridiculously. "Help, mistress! Help! My master is mad!" He pleaded, to the as yet unseen mistress of the house.

Fiyero threw Avaric from his firm grasp and snorted. "Mayhaps next time you shall listen to what I tell you, child!"

Suddenly the great wide red doors swung open and blessed them with a heavenly cold draft. "What racket is this?" He demanded to know, striding out as though he were the Governor Thropp himself. "My! As if it is not my old friend Avaric and my dear friend Lord Fiyero!"

"Hortensio! On my honour, my heart is glad to see you!" They embraced gladly as Avaric scrambled to his feet.

Hortensio guffawed happily. "And upon mine, you are a most honoured and welcome guest!" He glanced behind him. "Oh come, Avaric, we can settle this quarrel."

Avaric scoffed, dusty and dirty, hot and annoyed. "I don't care about your mediation. If this behaviour from him is not reason enough for me to leave his service then I tell I know not what is! He tells me to knock him and pound him and I ask you; is that any way for a servant to behave towards his master? Especially when said master is mad!" He raved, a crazed and worrying look in his eyes. His hair had flopped into his eyes and his surcoat had come undone, the blue rolling back to reveal his white shirt. "I would that I had hit him! I would have felt better!"

Fiyero shook his head and turned to Hortensio. "He is a worthless dog, Hortensio." He said, stealing a look at his nigh on undressed servant and his ruined livery. "I told him to knock upon the gates here and by the Unnamed God I could not get him to do it!"

"Knock at the gate?" Avaric asked, bemusement swiftly taking the place of insanity as though a dove of peace had come and lifted his sweetly from his shoulders. "Did not you clearly say 'knock' and 'pound' and 'put your fists to work'? And now you claim it was only 'knock at the gate?"

"Avaric, either shut up or leave me, I'm warning you." He said and his voice was low and tired.

Hortensio stood between the two men to mediate, the great bellowed sleeves of his coat hanging like the banners of the army in the breeze. "Easy Fiyero." He said calmly. "I can vouch for Avaric here. You two have been the best of men and friends since we were babes. You are far too alike for your own good. 'Tis terrible you two, fighting like this! Faithful, funny old Avaric!" Hortensio pushed the men together and they shook hands. A tentative peace was agreed upon, though all three knew it would last. "And now my dear Fiyero! What brings you hailing from the fair Vinkus?"

Fiyero sighed, gripping his friend's shoulder. "The wind scatters young men throughout the world and encourages them to seek their fortunes some place other than home where there is very little to be found in the way of experience." He theorised, eliciting a rolling of the eyes from Avaric and a raised brow from Hortensio. "But to be brief, Hortensio," Fiyero continued, seeing that he was not to be believed, "the situation is that my father, Minas, is dead, and I have finally set off into the world to see if I might marry well and make a good life for myself. I have money in my purse and property at home, so I see no reason why this might not be a thing accomplished."

Hortensio almost squealed at his friend's certainty; Fiyero could always be guaranteed upon for certainty. He had no lack of confidence and never made a bet where he was not sure to make a profit of it. "Fiyero, shall I be frank? I know where you can find a shrewish and unpleasant wife. I doubt you'd thank me in the end, but she's rich, all right, very rich. But you're too good a friend for me to wish her on you." He said, knowingly planting the seeds of challenge in Fiyero's all too immature soil. Part of him spoke in jest; if Fiyero refused he would pass it off as a joke. If he seemed sincere, well who knows?

Fiyero chortled. "Hortensio, good friends like us can get by on a few words. If you can find a woman rich enough for me – because money is all I look for in a wife – let her be as ugly as the Maunts. It wouldn't matter one way or the other. I've come here in search of a rich wife. If I find a rich wife in Munchkinland, I'll have found a good wife in Munchkinland." He said, clear as day as confident in his youth and wealth and power.

"He's certainly frank, isn't he, sir?" Avaric chimed in, nudging Hortensio. "Give him enough money and he'll be happy with a puppet, a paper doll, or a diseased old hag without a tooth in her head. If she's got money, what does it matter?"

Hortensio considered the matter. That woman was no thing for a friend to inflict upon even his most loathed enemy. "Fiyero, since the conversation's gone this far, I may as well carry on with what I mentioned purely as a joke." Fiyero nodded. "I _can_ help you find a wife who is rich, young, and beautiful and brought up in a manner fit for a gentlewoman." Fiyero grinned and thanked him, but Hortensio stayed his praise. "Her only flaw . . ." he paused, uncertain, "and it is by no means a small one, is that she is utterly unbearable. A supreme witch. So much so that I would never think of marrying her myself, not even if I were in a worse fix than I am, not for a whole goldmine."

Fiyero let the thought and image of this beautiful Shrew roll about on his tongue and in his mind for a moment. A Shrew indeed, he thought. He lifted his eyes to the bricks which must enclose her and a wonder crossed him that she was either an intemperate immature child, or an intemperate woman, treated as a child. Hortensio never liked his women smart, but Fiyero was different; he could never be at his ease at home with a woman whose wits did not match his own. Truly, he knew nothing, and yet this was far too intriguing to let pass by. "Hush, Hortensio. You know not what money can buy. Tell me her father's name and that is all I need. I will go after her even if her scolding is as deafening as thunder in an autumn rainstorm."

Hortensio yielded the information. "Her father is Governor Frexspar Thropp, a pleasant and courteous gentleman. Her name is Elphaba Thropp, famous throughout Munchkinland for her scolding tongue."

Fiyero frowned. "I do not know of her, but I know her father and he knew mine well. I shall not sleep until I see her, Hortensio. So I hope you'll forgive my cutting short this first conversation of ours." He stopped, "Unless you want to come with me?" He offered.

Avaric piped up, leaping almost upon Hortensio's head as he whispered in his ear and out of his master's. "Please, sir, let him go while he's in this mood. Lord! If she knew him as well as I do, she should know how little effect a scolding has on him. At best she may come up with nine or ten abusive things to call him. But once he starts on her, he shall rant and rave on an epic scale. In fact, if she even tries to face him down he shall throw out a figure of speech that so disfigures her she'll have no more eyes to see with than a cat. You don't know him, sir!" He begged.

Hortensio shoved off the beloved old friend and made after Fiyero who had turned back to the doors. "I should go with you. My own wealth is in Frexspar's keeping. His youngest daughter, the beautiful Nessarose, is the jewel of my life, and he keeps her hidden away from me and other rivals for her hand. Because he finds it so incredible that any man will ever come courting Elphaba, Frexspar has therefore issued this edict: that none shall be permitted to court Nessarose until that Elphaba the Shrew finds a husband." Fiyero blinked in surprise but did not run, and only shook a finger at his wily friend.

"Elphaba the Shrew! That's the worst thing you can call a young woman." Bemoaned Avaric, cursing the very day this trip was named. "But Master, look! Who are these people?"

"Hush, Avaric." Hortensio warned, jabbing the man's back with his elbow. "It is my rival for Nessarose coming." He ushered Fiyero from the street. "Fiyero, let's stand over here awhile."

From the north end of the square the shorter of the two suitors for Nessarose Thropp emerged, his cloaks swaying heavily in the breeze and causing clouds of billowing dust to swirl and envelope him. Hortensio covered a snort when the dirt caught in his rival's nose and he sputtered. "Oh, all right, I've reviewed the list of books." Gremio said to Boq, who was at that time disguised as a young schoolmaster and who had named himself simply 'Biq.' "But listen: I want them very handsomely bound – and only books of love, make sure of that in any case. And see that you give her no other lessons! Do I make myself clear?" Biq nodded fervently. "Over and above what Governor Thropp pays you, I'll tack on a bonus." Biq thanked him profusely. "Take these notes, too. And make sure they're pleasantly perfumed. The lady they are meant for is sweeter than perfume itself. What are you planning to read her?"

Biq spoke then, trying to maintain his hold on the many books and notes and music which his new master had so kindly bestowed upon him. "Whatever I read her, you can be sure that I'll plead the case for your love as strongly as if you yourself stood there before her, master." Biq promised. "And perhaps it would be done even a bit more successfully than you would do, sir, not being a scholar yourself."

"Oh, what an excellent thing this learning is!" Gremio exclaimed heartily, to Biq's confusion.

"Oh, what an asinine thing this moron is!" Avaric echoed cheekily in their hidden little corner.

"Silence, boy!" Fiyero chastised him, and got a pink tongue stuck in his face for his troubles.

" Avaric, hush!" Hortensio repeated. Avaric groaned and sulked in the corner. Hortensio then stepped out bravely into the streets and welcomed his friend. "May the Unnamed God save you, Master Gremio!" He walked towards him, arms opened and they embraced a moment."

"Good to see you, Master Hortensio." Gremio replied, with less than equal feeling towards his rival." He sighed and forced a smile upon his face, though it dripped with sarcasm. "Do you know where I'm going? To Governor Frexspar Thropp's house." Hortensio raised an eyebrow. "I promised to look into schoolmasters for Miss Nessarose, and luck has led me to this young man," he tapped Biq's shoulders proudly. "He is perfectly suited in learning and fine manners, well read in poetry and other good books, I assure you."

"That's great." Hortensio said quickly, eager to introduce his own pawn in their game. "And I have met a gentleman who promises to help me find a good music tutor to instruct our lady love. I wouldn't want to fall behind in my devotion to my beloved Nessarose." He simpered, the other man growing indignant and rolling to and fro on his heeled boots. The stones crunched beneath his soles, as though giving voice to his silent anger.

"_My_ beloved—as my actions will prove." Gremio insisted.

"As his moneybags will prove." Complained an ignored Avaric.

The men did not notice the servant's grumblings. Fiyero watched the two suitors with amusement. "Gremio, this is no time to compete over how deeply we love Nessarose." Gremio agreed unhappily. "Be nice and listen to me a moment and I'll give you a piece of news which is equally good for both of us." Hortensio then turned to Fiyero and presented him gladly. "Here is a gentleman I happened to meet who, if we can come to an arrangement that would be to his liking, is willing to undertake the task of wooing fierce Elphaba." Gremio started visibly and made no attempt to cover his shock. This Elphaba grew more and more intriguing as the minutes passed, thought the young Vinkun Lord. "Yes, even willing to marry her, if the price is right." Hortensio finished.

"That's good, if he'll really do it." Gremio said. "Have you told him all her faults, Hortensio?"

Fiyero then spoke, nonchalantly flicking his hand in the air. "I know she is a hateful, brawling scold. If that's all, gentlemen, I see no problem."

"No? Tell me, friend. Where are you from?" Gremio inquired.

"I was born and raised a Lord in the Vinkus." Fiyero explained. "I am old Minas' son. My father is dead and his fortune is mine now. I hope to see good days and many of them." Fiyero promised, smiling.

Gremio balked and laughed at the youth's stupidity. "Sir, such a life with such a wife is unlikely! But if you have the stomach for it, you'll have all the help from me you need. Do you really mean to go after this wildcat?"

"Do I mean to go on breathing?" Fiyero said. He found Gremio rather an imbecile; he did not much like his intentions being questioned by such a man. A man was only as good as his word, and Fiyero never gave his without firm knowledge that he would keep it.

"He'll woo her or I'll hang her." Avaric grumbled, hot and bored.

"Why did I come here if not for that?" Fiyero defended himself, annoyed that they seemed to think he was afraid of the consequences of a woman's sharp tongue. "Do you think a little burst of noise can intimidate me? I, who have heard mountain lions roar?" He spat, standing tall above Gremio. "I, who have survived storms at sea where the winds raged like wild animals? I, who have heard the rumble of guns in battle and thunder in the sky?" Gremio had turned a paler shade of white and swallowed. "Have I not stood in the middle of a battle, with loud calls to arms, horses neighing, and trumpets sounding all around me? And you worry how I will react to a woman's tongue, which is barely as loud as the _pop _of a chestnut roasting in some farmer's oven?" Gremio stammered. "Please. Scare children with your bugaboos." Fiyero said, licking his lips and stepping back slightly."

Gremio found his voice quickly after that and spoke to his friend. Lord Fiyero seemed the most perfect man for the Shrew; stubborn, wilful and strong as an ox. Let Elphaba rage against him with all her might. "Listen, Hortensio. I think this gentleman's arrival could be most fortunate, both for himself and for us."

"I promised him that we would all chip in and take care of the wooing expenses, whatever they come to." Hortensio informed him.

"Absolutely. So long as he gets the girl." Gremio reminded him.

Then, like a burst of thunder in a dark sky, a richly dressed man rounded the corner and burst into their midst. Biq knew him to be his own manservant, Tibbett, dressed as himself. "Greetings, gentlemen. May I be so bold as to ask the fastest way to Governor Frexspar Thropp's house?"

He was answered by Boq's lesser servant, Crope, who also joined them of his own intent. Boq did not worry he would be found out; the young man was scarcely important enough to afford a second glance or momentary consideration. "The old man with the two pretty daughters? Is that the man you want?" Crope examined his nails, insincerity oozing from every pore.

"The very one, Crope!" Tibbett replied, holding a triumphant finger in the air.

Gremio coughed, interrupting him. "Pardon, sir, I hope you're not looking for the daughter."

Tibbett eyed the man. "I might be looking for both the daughter and her father. What concern is it of yours?"

"But not the woman who scolds, anyway, I hope." Fiyero said, though it hardly seemed possible he would face any rival for Elphaba's hand. Save Elphaba herself.

"I'm not a fan of scolds, my friend." Tibbett replied with little courtesy. "Come, Crope."

Biq inwardly admired their scheming.

"Sir, a word before you go!" Hortensio yelled, bringing the departing men's attention back to him. "Are you a suitor to the girl we speak of, yes or no?" He asked.

Tibbett did not speak straight away, but leant back on his heels and clucked his tongue. "What if I am? Is there a problem?"

"Not if you go away, there isn't." Gremio muttered, though not so quietly that Tibbett would not hear him.

"Well, it seems to me that the streets are as much mine as yours." Tibbett said.

"But _she_ isn't." warned Gremio, hissing.

"And why is that, pray tell?"

"Because, if you must know, she's been chosen by Master Gremio." Gremio replied, bowing graciously and elegantly, presenting himself as the named man.

Hortensio then raised his voice and bowed proudly. "Because she's been chosen by Master Hortensio."

Tibbett put his hands up, signalling that there was no need for their show of strength and superiority before him, and quietly panicking that he did not really possess the desire nor the ability to outwit them in courting fair Nessarose. "Wait a minute, gentlemen. Be good enough to hear me out. Frexspar is a noble gentleman and one to whom my father is not completely unknown. Lovely as his daughter is, she is entitled to any number of suitors and myself among them." Hortensio and Gremio exchanged unreadable glances. "Let Nessarose have one more suitor, anyway, she's got one. I will woo her, even if the Wizard himself were to make her an offer." Tibbett promised, surprising Biq with his conviction.

"This fellow will out-talk us all." Gremio remarked to Hortensio.

"Well, let him. He'll talk himself out, soon." Biq told his master.

Eventually Fiyero spoke, having had enough of being pushed into the sidelines by this quarrel which did not interest him much. "Hortensio, what's all this about?"

Hortensio begged his friend be quiet for a moment longer, causing the Lord to groan and shift his weight from one sore foot to another. "Forgive me for asking," Hortensio said to Tibbett, "but have you ever actually seen Frexspar's daughter?"

Tibbett hesitated. "No, but I hear he has two, the one as famous for her scolding tongue as the other is for her modesty and beauty."

"The first one's mine, so hands off!" Fiyero warned, keen to ensure his position was clear and safe.

Gremio heaved a great laugh and looked decidedly relieved. "Yes, leave that labour to great heroes. 'Tis worse than the worst of challenges."

Fiyero moved to stand beside the bemused young Tibbett and spoke slowly, assuming the man was not as quick-witted as he ought to be. "Sir, let me be clear. As far as the youngest daughter, the one you were asking about, is concerned, the father refuses any suit to her. He will not promise her to any man until the elder sister is married. Then and only then will the younger be free to marry." He explained, watching a curiously unsurprised Tibbett.

"If that be the case, then you are the man to help us, me along with the rest." Tibbett said, happier now. "And if you carry it off and break the ice and win the older and make the younger accessible to us, whomsoever winds up with her will not be such a boor as to be ungrateful, I'm sure." He joked.

Hortensio agreed, shaking the man's hand. "Sir, that was well said and well thought out." He praised him. "Now, since you count yourself among Nessarose's suitors, you must, as we already have, pay this gentlemen to whom we are all so indebted." Hortensio gestured to a smiling Fiyero.

Tibbett bit the inside of his mouth until his grin stretched ear to ear. "I shall contribute, certainly! And on that note, let us all pass the time this afternoon drinking rounds to our mistress's health and following the example of legal adversaries, who fight tooth and nail in court but eat and drink as friends." He proposed to the tired company.

"An excellent motion. Let's go." Sang Avaric and Crope, almost in chorus.

"I second that motion. So be it." Hortensio called as they marched to an alehouse. "Fiyero, I'm buying!"


	3. The Taming

_**Author's Note: **I disclaim!_

_Very excited to be working on this now - especially because it is the holidays and therefore all my energy can go into this. I really am loving this story so - without actually pleading - I really would like to hear what you guys think. It's really lovely when I hear from any of you! Bear in mind that though it is very similar to the play now, later chapters - round about the tenth mark - will deviate almost entirely.  
_

_Thanks so much to those who have reviewed so far. Enjoy!  
_

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A painful shriek pierced the hallowed halls of the Governor's mansion as the young mistress, Nessarose Thropp, was chased and viciously beaten by her angry cursed sibling. The shrew snapped around corners and frightened her sister near to death, threatening her with every punishment it was in her power to inflict, should she not reveal which of her many suitors had caught her heart. Exactly why this information was so precious to Elphaba was unclear, even to her, but it must be had, and so her sister was chased.

"Dear sister, it's unfair to me to turn me into a slave!" She insisted, holding out her silk-bound hands from across one side of the great wooden table that stood in the dining hall. "That I won't stand for!" She whined. "But if you want my _things_ then untie my hands and I'll give them to you myself! Everything, even down to my slip. Or anything else you order me to do. I _know I_ should obey my elders!"

Elphaba groaned and slammed a hand on the tough, worn wood. "What I want is for you to tell me which of your suitors you like best." She told Nessarose, for the fifth time. "And don't lie." She warned, pointing a thin finger at her. Nessarose had never been able to get a lie past her sister. Elphaba was so very good at lying, though she hardly ever employed the talent as far as Nessa knew.

"I swear, dear sister, I have not yet encountered that special face I might prefer to any other." Nessa said, softening her voice in the hopes it might convince her sister. Truth be told, she was far too panicked now to be able to know which of the men was foremost in her mind.

"You lying brat. It's Hortensio, isn't it?" Elphaba guessed.

Nessarose pricked. "If you want him, dear sister, he's yours. I swear I'll woo him for you myself."

Elphaba's blood boiled and she sneered cruelly at her sister. "Oh, I see. You're more interested in money. You'll live in luxury with Gremio." She retorted, her eyes like slits so her sister could not read them. It would hardly be surprising that her sister should be so dazzled by money; she certainly had enough of it showered upon her daily since the moment she was born. Her cradle had been gold-plated. She circled the table and snuck closer to her all-too-innocent sibling.

"Is it because of _him_ that you envy me?" The younger girl laughed lightly. "You must be kidding! And now I see that you've been joking all the while. Please, Elphaba, untie my hands." Suddenly, Nessa felt the hot sting of Elphaba's hand on her face. She had slapped her with ferocity she had not known she warranted. But Elphaba's expression was hard, broken and angry. It was a moment such as this that caused Nessarose to wonder what on earth she had ever done wrong. It was hardly her fault that her sister was so hated.

"If _that's_ a joke, I guess the rest was, too." Elphaba snickered, her emotions so high that they were almost tangible.

"What in the world is going on?" Frexspar's pathetic boom came to them from the entrance to the hall. He stood there, gowned and annoyed and addressed Elphaba. "Young lady, where do you get the nerve?" He demanded, though it was quite obvious to Elphaba that he required no answer, nor, if she were to give one, would he listen. She heard Nessarose break down into tears behind her; that girl always had a talent for crying. She cried enough for the whole family. Perhaps that was why Elphaba never did. "Get behind me, Nessa!" He said, offering his hand to her as she ran madly to him. "Poor girl, she's hysterical!" He patted her tiny frame with a concern Elphaba had never known. But it seemed fake to her. She never wanted it. "Go do some sewing. Don't even talk to her." He whispered gently, leading Nessarose from the room and closing the door so carefully it was as though it was made of sugar-glass. He turned to Elphaba, enraged (though his temper could never match hers). "You monstrous, good-for-nothing fiend! Why would you want to hurt your sister? She never did you any harm! When has she spoken even one cross word to you?"

Elphaba cackled. "She mocks me with her silence, and I'll get my revenge on her." She said, and made to strike her sister again, who had lingered like a pathetic little child at the door, not wanting to miss anything of interest because she had been sent to bed.

She almost caught the perfect little white hand before he stopped her. "What, in my presence? How dare you!" He held Elphaba's hand with waning strength and ensured Nessarose was gone from the scene entirely.

"You mean you don't even want to hear my side? Of course! She's your treasure. She must have a husband and I must dance barefoot on her wedding day." She mocked him, unafraid of anything he could do to her. She liked being melodramatic with him; she knew he could hardly stand it. If it took all of her energy, she would ensure he never had a moment's rest for treating her like he did. "You like her best and so I'll die an old maid. Don't talk to me. I'll just go cry myself sick and think of some way to get back at all of you." She screamed, flung the door open and allowed it to smash back into its frame.

Frexspar winced at the sound of the wood on metal and steel. Splinters of rotten wood fell on his hat and shoulders and he did not brush them off. "Has any man ever had to put up with what I do?" He sighed, and moaned again when he heard an almighty crash of people entering his home. "Now what?" He leaned on a chair for support and braced his nerves.

As they readied themselves to stand before Governor Thropp, some of the men burned with nerves, others with excitement and one with a heavy keenness. Gremio entered with Boq, dressed as a poor man; Fiyero with Hortensio, disguised as a musician and Tibbett, disguised as Boq, entered with Crope, who carried a lute and books. Of course, they looked and felt ridiculous, but this was unbeknownst to Frexspar Thropp, who merely welcomed them with the warmth of a man with too many daughters.

"Good morning, neighbour Frexspar." Gremio said, bowing politely.

Frexspar returned the gesture and addressed them group entire. "Good morning, neighbour Gremio. Greetings, gentlemen." He said, his curiosity as hard as a flame at the possible purpose of this misshapen collection of men. His eyes fell finally upon the young and thoughtfully-dressed man named Fiyero Tiggular. It occurred to him that he had seen him, or men like him with their tanned skin before.

"And to you, good sir." Replied the foreigner, assuming correctly that the elder man was talking primarily to him. "Tell me, don't you have a virtuous and lovely daughter named Elphaba?" Fiyero asked, confidently.

Frexspar chuckled. "I have a daughter named Elphaba, sir."

Gremio leaned over, with less tact than he perhaps intended, and hissed into Fiyero's ear. "You are too blunt. You're supposed to work up to it." He warned.

Fiyero struggled to refrain from rolling his eyes and responded quietly. "Please, Signor Gremio." He took a small step forward, underlining his importance. Frexspar noticed how fine his physique and his manner were. What a fine man. His heart jumped a little that he had inquired of Elphaba. "Allow me to continue. I am a Lord of the Vinkus, sir, who, hearing of your daughter's beauty and wit, her friendly disposition and bashful modesty, her uncommon virtues and her mild behaviour, have taken the liberty of presenting myself as a guest at your house in the hope of seeing for myself if what I've heard is true. And, as the price of admission for being received by you, I here present you with a servant of mine."

At this point he nodded to Hortensio who had dressed himself up in the disguise of a tutor. The tall gentleman strode gallantly forward and made a bow to his master of epic proportions. He schooled his expression into one of academic virtue and wisdom and waited to be accepted. Fiyero continued, not a little worried than his friends were treating this as too much of a mummer's play. "He is expert in the fields of music and mathematics. I thought he might instruct her in those branches of knowledge of which she is, I gather, no beginner. Be good enough to accept this gift! I'll be offended if you don't." He said, acknowledging the look of pleasure on the Governor's face. "His name is Litho, and he comes from Linster, in the South-West of Munchkinland."

Frexspar laughed happily at this astounding man. "You and he are both welcome, sir!" He exclaimed, outstretching his arms, though they each knew that etiquette demanded they not actually embrace him. Fiyero did have to hold Hortensio by the elbow before he hugged the man. "As for my daughter Elphaba, this much I know: she's not for you, although more's the pity."

Fiyero shrugged, not put off at all. "I see you don't intend to part with her – or perhaps you don't like my company?"

"Don't misunderstand me, sir. I'm just stating the facts as I see them." He said, resignedly. "Where are you from? What's your name?" He asked, not quite willing to let the man go yet.

"My name is Fiyero, son of Minas, a man well known throughout Oz."

"I know him well." Frexspar confirmed, the image of the Arjiki court springing to mind again. As far as he recalled it was a hot land, but splendid and rich in every sense from the coffers to the colours. "You are welcome for his sake."

Here, Gremio interjected. "With all due respect, Fiyero, give someone else a chance to speak. You're _so_ aggressive!" He complained, wishing to say his piece and ruining much of Fiyero's high opinion for him.

"Forgive me, Signor Gremio," He said, "but I'm anxious to get things moving."

Gremio huffed. "No doubt, but you may be going about it the wrong way." He said, and brought forward his own prizes to Frexspar. "Neighbour, this gift is very gracious, I'm sure. I myself, who am more indebted to you than anyone, have brought you this young scholar." At this came forward Boq, though he did not identify himself as such. "This man has long studied at school. He is as expert in Ozian, Ugabian, Gillikin, Quadling, and other languages as that other man is in music and mathematics. His name is Biq. Please accept his services." He said graciously.

Frexspar thanked the men and acknowledged the poorly-clothed Boq as Biq. "Many thanks, Signor Gremio. Welcome, good Biq." He then turned to the final man, as yet mysterious to him, who was Tibbett dressed as Boq. "As for you, sir, you would appear to be a stranger. May I be so bold as to ask your reason for coming?" He inquired; his right eyebrow almost touching what would have been his hairline had he not been as bald and shining as the shell of a good egg.

Tibbett obliged the man. "Pardon me, sir, the boldness is all mine in seeking to court your fair and virtuous daughter, Nessarose. I am indeed a stranger in this city. I am aware of your firm decision regarding her older sister. I only ask that when you know who my parents are, I may be made as welcome as her other suitors and given the same freedom and favour. My contribution toward the education of your daughters is a lute and this small package of Ozian and Gillikin books." He held out his arm and Crope brought the items to Frexspar, who examined their quality closely. "You would add to their value by accepting them."

"Your name is Boq, you say. Of what city, may I ask?"

"Of the fair city of Tennikin, sir, son of Vincentio."

Frexspar relaxed at the supplied information and in his cheeks there rose a fine bright, red hue. "A man of great influence. I know him well by reputation. You are very welcome here, sir." He repeated, just as sincerely as he had to the others. "Here, Litho! You take the lute. And you, Biq, the set of books. I'll send you to your pupils right away." The items were handed out accordingly, and Frexspar called a servant to him. "Boy, take these gentlemen to my daughters, and tell them both they are to be their teachers and to be courteous to them."

The men followed the servant quickly, wearing smiles of glee, thanking the master profusely, and eager to begin the competition of wooing young Nessarose. They left only the Governor and the Lord alone in the great hall of oak, silver and gold.

Frexspar turned towards the hall and the two men walked until they reached a second long passage. It led to an annexe which opened onto the finest and leafiest garden Fiyero had seen since he had left home. "Let us take a little walk in the orchard before dinner. You are all most welcome here; please make yourselves at home." He said, and Fiyero remembered to pass on the offer to his acquaintances.

"Governor Thropp, I do not have much time, I regret. I cannot make this wooing a daily thing." He said, fingering a soft rose bush as they inhaled the heady scent of summer. The garden was wild, but the presence of several gardeners after only a few steps told him it was cultivated to look so. The gardens in the Vinkus were in need of no such tending. "You knew my father well; therefore, you know me, the sole heir to all his property and possessions, which I have added to rather than depleted." He assured the old man. "So, tell me, assuming I win your daughter's love, what dowry would she bring to the marriage?"

Frexspar respected the young lord's manner; blunt and direct. He seemed to have his head firmly settled in reason, and was miles away from the ridiculous love-lorn dandies that he knew sought his youngest daughter. Elphaba, however, was neither deserving nor capable or appreciate of any such care. He would fit her well. "Twenty thousand crowns now and half my lands after my death."

Fiyero liked the sound of it, as well as the look of elation on Miss Thropp's father's face. If Frexspar was trying to keep a steady, unreadable face in case of bargaining, he was failing spectacularly. "Fair enough. And on my side, I shall guarantee that if I die before she does, she shall inherit all my land and the rent from any property I own." Frexspar nodded. "Let us have explicit contracts drawn up to ensure that both sides keep their promises."

Frexspar was quite willing to do so, and it all sounded so simple. There was, of course, one significant issue to get out of the way. "Certainly, as soon as you've gotten the most important thing – her love . . . or at the very least her acknowledgement. That counts for everything."

Fiyero dismissed the concern. "Oh, 'tis nothing, believe me, sir. I am as commanding as she is proud, and when two raging fires meet they end up consuming the very thing that kindled them." He winked. They had turned a corner into a perfectly circular grove filled with blossom and bush. "Blow on a fire and all you do is fan the flames. But a great gust of wind will blow the fire out completely. I am that great gust to her fire. I am rough, and I don't woo like a little boy."

His confidence was not only impressive, but infectious. Governor Thropp felt equally assured of his success, and he was impatient to see it carried out. "Well, good luck! I hope you are successful. But prepare yourself for some unpleasantness." He said, lowering his voice as though Elphaba would be able to hear him. It was not uncommon for her to be aware of things he was certain she could not possibly know. She had a penchant for abnormality that moved beyond the odd tone of her skin. She was too intuitive for him to dismiss it as coincidence.

"I shall be completely prepared. Mountains do not tremble, however much the wind may blow!" He laughed, and was pleased when the father of his fiancée joined in.

Suddenly, Hortensio rushed upon them, dressed as Litho. Shockingly, his head was bleeding profusely and he cursed and invoked his Lord's name repeatedly.

"Gracious! Why so pale, my friend?" He asked, handing the man a handkerchief and calling for aid from the servants.

"I would have to say from fear." He rasped, and swayed worryingly.

Frexspar bit his lip. "Will my daughter be a good musician, do you think?" Fiyero laughed to himself that he would ask such a stupid question.

"I think she'll be a better soldier. She may be good with firearms. Never lutes." He said, honestly. Fiyero was aching to meet her more by the minute. She seemed a fierce one.

"You don't think you can teach her?" Her father pleaded again.

"No, but she's taught me a thing or two!" Hortensio-as-Litho exclaimed. "All I said was that she was using the wrong frets and tried to adjust her fingering." He took a swig of cold water from a decanter, ignoring the offer of a glass completely. "And she jumps up and says, 'Frets? I'll give you frets!' With that, she clobbers me with the lute so that my head goes right through, and there I am, dazed, strings around my neck, looking through the sound hole like I was in the stocks, while she calls me "worthless fiddler,' 'twanging twerp,' and twenty more hateful names, as though she'd prepared for me by composing a long list of insults to use on my behalf!" He finished, breathless and red with blood, his fine clothes ruined.

To the irritation of Hortensio-as-Litho and the shock of Frexspar, Fiyero burst into a fit of laughter. "I like this girl! She has real character! Now I want her more than ever. I can't wait to meet her!" He said, smiling brilliantly.

Unable to form any coherent response to the Lord, Frexspar took Hortensio-as-Litho by the arm and led him away. "All right, come with me. Don't be discouraged. Continue your lessons with my younger daughter. She's quick to learn and responsive." He said, consoling the young and battered tutor. He turned to Fiyero. "My Lord Tiggular, will you come with us, or shall I send my daughter Elphaba to you?

Fiyero took a deep breath and wiped a tear from his eye. "Please do." And he was left alone, with naught but the hot sun and the bright flowers to take his attention. He though to himself about what to do with this fiery spirit he meant to take as a wife. The spark of fear in him was manifesting as excitement, arousal. He desperately wanted to lay eyes on her. He determined to wait for her in the grove; it was a novel, fairy-tale like notion and a wonderful meeting to tell their children of one day. "If she rants, I shall tell her that she sings as sweetly as a nightingale." He settled, considering his course of action. He had the fortune of knowing quite a bit about her beforehand, and she only perhaps only what the gentlemen had known, and they knew very little. "If she glares, I shall declare her brow is as clear as roses newly washed with morning dew. If she is silent and won't speak at all, I'll praise her chattiness and say she speaks with piercing eloquence." He laughed. "If she orders me to go, I'll thank her warmly as if she'd just offered to put me up for a week. If she refuses my proposal, I'll tell her how much I'm looking forward to the announcement and the wedding!" He curbed his speech as he heard a woman's approach and turned to greet her.

He was, however, quite as prepared as he thought.

At first he was confused, and it must have shown on his face, for she rolled her eyes. It looked as though they had sent him an actress, a mummer. She was green. She was utterly green. His eyes were saucers, wide with surprise, though not shock. It touched his heart however, that, just for a moment, she seemed hurt by his reaction. It occurred to him then, that there was quite another reason for her infamy as a shrew.

"Good morning, Elphaba, for I hear that's what you're called."

"Is that what you've heard? Then you'd better get your ears checked. I am called Miss Thropp by those who have any business using my name." She spat, unkindly. She did not look at him. She seemed bored. Bored, but beautiful. Her features struck him quite instantly, and he wanted to touch her.

He winked playfully, instead, and her brow knitted together in confusion. "Liar. In fact, you're called Elphaba, plain Elphaba and pretty Elphaba, and sometimes Elphaba the shrew. But it's definitely Elphaba; the prettiest Elphaba in the world, Elphie, Phae, Elpha-woman, the Elph-ster!" By this point, her mouth had dropped open in alarm and half-amusement. "So, Elphaba, here is my pitch: that having heard your charming disposition praised, not to mention your beauty and your virtues, though none of them as richly as you deserve, I find myself driven to propose. I want you for my wife."

Elphaba did not quite know what to make of him. But it did not signify; she could care less about him, and scoffed at what he said. "Driven?" Really? Well, let whoever drove you here drive you back again. I had you figured for a piece of furniture."

"What do you mean by 'furniture'?"

She played with a blossom. "A nice stool."

He clicked his fingers. "You're right, actually!" He sat on a stone bench near to him and slapped his thigh. "Come sit on me." He said.

Elphaba cackled, as only she could, and stood her ground. "Asses are made for bearing, and so are you."

Fiyero leaned forward. "Women are made for bearing, and so are you."

She blanched and anger overtook her face. "Not by the likes of you!"

"Oh heavens, Elphaba, I wouldn't think of burdening you. I know how light and carefree you are." He said, with just enough sarcasm to impart intelligence.

"Too light for a lout like you to catch, though no lighter than I should be."

"Should be? Maybe you _should be_ the subject of some buzz!" He suggested, smiling, and rising to walk nearer to her.

"Buzz off, buzzard." She said, moving away from him.

"If I'm a buzzard, you're a turtledove." He retorted, following her. Now, they were circling.

"Only a buzzard would think so." She hissed.

He strode forward and grabbed her by the wrist before she could jump from him. "Come, my little wasp – you're too angry." He insisted, having to use all his strength to keep his hold on her. My, but she was strong.

"If I'm a wasp, look out for my stinger." She threatened. Fiyero would never voice it, but the power in her voice impressed him, and he was a little afraid.

"All I have to do is remove it." He said holding her closer and mentally taking note of the arch of her eyebrows, the curve of her lips and the rosy pink blush of her anger. He could feel her pulse race and see her bosom rise and fall.

"True, if a fool such as yourself could find it." She said, her words clear and harsh, her voice not shaking for a syllable.

"Everyone knows where a wasp wears its stinger. In its tail." He said, and boldly, thought of pinching her own tail, but knew the better of it; he was not leering. He loosened his grip and she slid away. She did not, to his surprise, leave altogether.

"No, in its tongue."

"Whose tongue?"

"Yours, if we're talking about tales." He was silent, and she was fed up. What a study he had been. "I'm leaving."

"You're leaving with my tongue in your tail? No, come back, Elphaba!" I'm too much of a gentleman." He said, grabbing her waist from behind and turning her into his embrace. She was shocked and did not react quickly enough to get away. He did not restrain her hands.

"A gentleman? We'll see about that!" She slapped him painfully across the face, the clap echoing through the grove and distorting his vision for a moment. She hated the feeling of his hands on her. It made her panic and she felt adrenalin rushing through her.

Fiyero stared at her. She was rigid in his arms; as tense as steel. By her reaction, it was clear she feared a violent response. He wondered if she had ever physically hit a man before. He was more patient; but he thought that of the men in her life he had met so far, he was the only one who would not beat her senseless for the act. He would just slap her back. Tit for tat.

"I swear I'll smack you if you hit me again."

The words made her feel confident again and he let his arms drop. She did not move, reluctant to give him a weak impression. "Not if you want to keep your arms! If you hit me, that proves you're not a gentleman. And if you're not a gentleman, you don't have any arms." She finished.

"Oh, come on now, Kate. Don't look so sour." He pleaded.

"That's my way, when I see a crab-apple." She moaned, pushing him away, though with less force than she had exerted before.

"There's no crab-apple here, so don't look sour." He quipped.

"There is a crab-apple here." She said, straight-faced.

"Show me." He said, daring her. He was having fun.

"I would, if I had a mirror." She snapped. Her pulse was racing; their exchanges coming thick and fast.

"What, you mean my face looks like a crab-apple?" He said, feigning stupidity and insult.

"What a clever child he is!"

"You know, you're right. I probably am too young for you." He said, moving towards her. She let him stand closer and closer, before turning away. They circled one another again.

"Maybe, but you're wrinkled all the same."

"Oh, that's with worry." He insisted.

"Well, that doesn't worry me."

"Listen, Elphaba! You won't get away like that." He whispered, closing the space between them. He took hold of her arms and held her to him.

She met his eyes. They were wide, blue and beautiful, but she could not read what he felt behind them. He was the most stubborn man she had ever met in her life. She hated him. Yet, there was something about him she could not understand. She could not put her finger on what it was, nor could she put into words how she felt at that moment. Her arms were hot where he touched them and she weakened for a moment and let her eyes fall to his lips. What in Oz was she doing? Why did she care how she felt about him? She snatched them up, hoping he had not noticed. "Let me go. I'll make you angry if I stay."

He shook his head slowly, not loosening his grip for a single moment. "No, not a bit. I find you quite gentle." She frowned. "I was told that you were violent, proud, and sullen. But now I see that people have been lying about you, for you are funny, playful, and beautifully behaved, not sharp-tongued, but as sweet as flowers in springtime." She glared at him, unable to speak and incredulous. She bit her lip in anger at herself. "You haven't got it in you to frown or look displeased or bite your lip as angry women do." He said, ignoring that her teeth were tugging at her lip. To his delight, when he spoke, she self-consciously let go of her lip and licked it with a pink tongue.

"You don't take pleasure in bitter conversation. No, you entertain your suitors with mild and gentle conversation, quiet and pleasant. Why does the world report that Elphaba is lame?" He said, playing with his words. "The world's a liar. Elphaba is as straight and slender as a hazel-twig, her hair as black as night shells, and she herself sweeter than the kernels." He spoke with such clarity, that she struggled for a moment to recall if whether or not what he said was the truth. "Take a few steps I want to see you walk. You don't limp at all!"

She stood for a second in front of him, but snapped out of her reverie quickly. She shoved him away roughly, and he stumbled back, not expecting the treatment to be quite so harsh. "Get out of here, fool, and give orders to your servants, not me."

"Did the sweet Ozma ever beautify a grove as much as Elphaba beautifies this one with her queenly movements? You be Ozma, and let Ozma be Elphaba. Then let Elphaba be the chaste one, while Ozma plays with me." He said, cheekily.

"Where do you memorize all this smart talk?" She eyed him, a hand on her hip. She looked saucy in that pose.

"I make it up as I go. It's born of my mother wit." He told her.

"A witty mother! Too bad about the son!" She laughed.

"Am I not wise?"

"Enough to keep yourself warm." She quipped, meaning to call him foolish.

He strode to her again. "Yes, I intend to keep myself warm, sweet Elphaba – in your bed." He said, boldly. "So let's cut to the chase: your father has consented for you to become my wife. Your dowry is agreed upon, and whether you like it or not, I will marry you." She paled, as well as a green woman could, but he continued as fierce and determined as she had been only a moment before. "I tell you, I'm the man for you, Elphaba. I swear by this light, which shows me your beauty – the beauty that makes me love you." He said, though he was only making love, and hardly meant it in its fullest sense. "I swear that you must be married to no man but me. I'm the man who was born to tame you and change you from a wildcat Phae into a Phae as gentle and domestic as other household Phaes." He promised her, and kissed her hands, one for each, to seal his words. She could only stand, her heart burning with hatred, but her lips unwilling to convey the feeling.

As she stood silent as the grave, Frexspar passed under the arch of the annexe towards them with Gremio and Tibbett.

Fiyero turned to her and leaned in a millimetre closer. She tensed and moved her head away. "Here comes your father. Don't even think about refusing. I must and will have Elphaba for my wife."

"Now, Lord Fiyero, how are you getting on with my daughter?" Frexspar asked, nervous as a schoolboy and desperate to be given a favourable answer.

Fiyero grinned and exclaimed. "Beautifully, sir, beautifully! It couldn't go any other way." He told the older man.

Frexspar shouted joyfully and his eyes filled with tears. Elphaba remained in her stupor, until her father took her hand and squeezed it. He had not touched her before, not to the best of her recollection. "Now, daughter Elphaba? Are you down in the dumps?"

The heat from inside her reached her eyes then, and Frexspar jumped back when she turned on him. "You have the nerve to call me daughter? Is this a father's loving care; wanting to marry me off to a total madman, a worthless, irresponsible louse who thinks if he swears enough, he'll get his way?"

Fiyero spoke up. "Sir, this is the truth: you and the rest, all the people who have ever talked about her, have all been wrong." They stared at him; highly unsure when there was a seething Elphaba standing directly in contrast to what he was saying. "If she seems fierce, it's for a reason. She's not obstinate but gentle as the dove, not high-strung but peaceful as the morning. She is patient and modest. In short, we've gotten along so well that Sunday is our wedding day."

Elphaba choked. "I'll see you hanged on Sunday first!"

"Listen to that Fiyero: she says she'll see you hanged first." He taunted the man, taking much amusement out of the scene and very much doubting the man's chances of success.

"Is this your idea of triumph? So much for our plan." Tibbett moaned, ready to rip up his music sheets.

But Fiyero merely held up his hand to silence them and responded in calm and gentle tones. "Relax, gentlemen. I've made my choice. If she and I are happy, what be it to you? When we were alone, we agreed that in public she would go on being unpleasant." Elphaba sighed heavily; short of running away and living a life on the streets, she appeared to have gotten herself into a tough spot. "I tell you, though, it's incredible how much she loves me. Darling Phae! She hung about my neck, smothering me with kisses, making vow after vow." Elphaba blushed, and kept her eyes on the ground, her confusion obvious to everyone, but not more so than her silence. Fiyero happily went on: "In this way, she won my heart completely! You men are rank beginners! It's amazing how even a timid wretch can tame the most dreadful shrew, if the two are left alone together." Frexspar, delighted with the progress, and stupid enough not to see much beyond the surface meaning of his future son-in-law's words, clapped his hands together in delight. "Give me your hand, Phae. I'm off to the Emerald City to buy outfits for the wedding. Plan the feast, sir, and invite the guests. I want my Elphaba decked out in the finest clothes!" He exclaimed, kissing her hands wetly once more.

"I don't know what to say. Well, give me your hands! God give you joy, Fiyero. Call it a match!" Frexspar said, his heart racing at such an unlikely achievement.

"Amen to that! We'll be your witnesses." Tibbett declared, indicating himself and an eager Gremio.

Fiyero thanked them. "Father, wife, friends – farewell! I'm off to the Emerald City. Sunday is just around the corner. We will have rings and things and fancy dress! So kiss me, Phae. We're to be married on Sunday!" He said, laughing. Suddenly, he kissed her quickly on the lips, and sauntered happily off, rejoicing with every step.

In disbelief, Elphaba stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving the rest of the company in silence.

It was Gremio who broke the quiet, shuffling his feet. "Was there ever a match put together so quickly?"

Frexspar sighed. "Truly, gentlemen, this is a chancy piece of business. I've made a risky investment."

Tibbett, still as Boq, of course, said: "Yes, but the item was just gathering dust. This way, you'll either make a profit by it or lose it on the high seas."

Frexspar wiped his sweating brow with a dry cloth; his age seemed to show now. "The only profit I seek is a peaceful match."

"There's no doubt that Fiyero's got quite a catch." Gremio admitted. He placed a hand on the old Governor's shoulder, anxious to be rid of the subject of the shrew and keen to open the one concerning her sister. "Now, Frexspar, let us turn to your younger daughter. We've been waiting a long time for this day." He took a deep breath. "I'm your neighbour and came courting first." He said, simply, considering that would be an end to it.

"And I am one who loves Nessarose more than words can express, more than you can imagine." Tibbett ventured quickly, running round to the man's other side.

"Callow youth," Gremio accused Tibbett, "you don't yet know how to love!" He mocked, his thick sleeves waving in the breeze as he gestured wildly.

"Old man, your love is ice." The younger man said.

"And you're all sizzle. Stand back, boy. Age is the thing that nourishes." Gremio warned.

"Yes, but in the ladies' eyes, it is youth that flourishes."

"Enough, gentlemen. I will settle this matter." Frexspar said, tiring from so much courting and proposing in one day. "Deeds will determine the winner here." He said, thinking that since he so treasured his youngest, it would be a good method by which to discover the most worthy gentleman. "Whichever of you can promise Nessarose the greatest dower shall have my daughter's love." He concluded. "Tell me, Signor Gremio, what can you offer her?"

Gremio snapped his breeches and rocked forwards on his heels; a show of confidence and pride. Had he been a peacock, or exotic bird, his tail feathers would have spread magnificently out before them. As it was, the golden lining on his cloak glinted in the sun, and it was enough to emphasise his wealth. "First of all, my house in the city, as you know, is filled with expensive furniture and household articles, china and gold, basins and pitchers for her to wash her dainty hands in. All my wall hangings are tapestries from Gillikin. My ivory strongboxes are stuffed with gold, my wooden trunks filled with elegant rugs, expensive clothing, hangings and bed curtains, fine linens, Quadling cushions trimmed with pearls, Emerald draperies, pewter and brass, and everything else a household could possibly want." Tibbett began to swear. "Then, at my farm I have a hundred milk cows, a hundred and twenty fat oxen in my stables, and all the equipment necessary to maintain them. I'm getting on in years, and if I died tomorrow, all this will belong to Nessarose – if only while I live she shall belong solely to me." He said, topping his well done speech with a small bow of his head.

Tibbett coughed and muttered to himself. "That "solely" is very much to the point." He leapt in between the two men, smiling. Though his cloak was not lined with gold, his fine hair was blonde as the wheat field, and it was caught by the bright glare. "Sir, hear me out: I am my father's only son and, as such, his _sole_ heir. If you give me your daughter's hand in marriage, she will end up with three or four houses in Tennikin as good as any one that Gremio has in Munchkinland – not to mention the two thousand crowns a year that my land earns me. All of which I'll leave her in my will." He nodded, too, and caught Gremio wincing in the corner. "Did I see you flinch, Signor Gremio?"

The elder man hesitated; two thousand crowns a year from his land did not equal every inch of his land altogether, but he had other investments. "I forgot to mention the merchant ship that lies in Emerald City harbour. Sorry – have I caught you choking on a merchant ship?"

"Please, Gremio! Everyone knows that my father has no less than three, huge merchant ships and fourteen galleys – two large and twelve small. These also I promise to Nessarose – and whatever your next offer is, I'll double it." He promised.

Gremio eyed the strange young competitor. "I have nothing else to offer. That' is everything I own. I cannot offer her more than all I have. If you choose me, she shall have me and mine." Gremio said to the Governor.

Tibbett hurrahed in triumph. "In that case I, of all the men in the world, have won the maid, by your explicit promise. Gremio is outbid."

"I must admit your offer is the best." Frexspar conceded. "And provided that your father will be your guarantor, she shall be yours. Otherwise – forgive me, but if you should die before him, what becomes of her dowry?"

Tibbett scoffed at the possibility. "That is nothing! He is old, I'm young." He said, simply, as though it were an explanation.

"Oh, and young men never die?" Gremio questioned him.

"Well, gentlemen, that's my decision. As you know, next Sunday my daughter Elphaba is to be married." He said, gleeful at the truth of it. "Therefore, the Sunday after, Nessarose shall be married to you, Tibbett, if you obtain that guarantee. If not, she'll be married to Signor Gremio. And so I thank you both and bid you goodbye." He said quickly, and turned his back to enter the house through the annexe once more.

"Now I'm not worried." Gremio said, happily. "You there, young sport! Your father would be a fool to give you all his wealth and spend his declining years as a guest in your house. It's absurd. An old Gillikin fox is never that generous, my boy!" He cackled, though not half so cruelly as Elphaba, and followed the Governor's path from the grove.

"Sneaky, dried-up old coot!" Spat the young manservant. "We shall see who gets the upper hand! I have already bluffed pretty well – and without even a face card." He said, taking immense pride in his achievement so far. "I have a mind to help my master. Clearly, I shall have to produce a father – call him 'fake Vincentio' – and it will be a miracle. Usually fathers produce children, not the other way around. But in this case of wooing, a child shall father his own father." He paused. "If my wits don't fail me."

The young pretender snuck from the grove, too, leaving it to rest in its own purity, away from the madness of its human counterparts.

* * *

_Now wait - who is who? ;)_


	4. Marry in Haste

_**Author's Note: **I disclaim again. _

_Though it appears I'm sending this story out into the abyss, for the few who are reading it I will keep updating. For all I know, you're really enjoying it and it wouldn't be fair to abandon it otherwise. So, here's your next update, and Elphaba's humiliation doesn't end either.  
_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Signor Boq, this is the day appointed for Elphaba and Fiyero's wedding, but there is no sign of the groom." Frexspar Thropp paced the gravelled stones outside the church on the pre-arranged Sunday morning, growing red and sporting fatter and slicker beads of sweat on his smooth head as the minutes passed and Lord Fiyero Tiggular had not shown his face. "What will people say? To have the priest right here, ready to perform the marriage ceremony, and be missing a bridegroom! What do you think about our humiliation, Boq?" He whimpered, swishing his red sleeves and tossing up dust in the poor man's face. Tibbett, whom Frexspar of course still knew as 'Boq', swallowed nervously.

"The humiliation is all mine." Elphaba said, her already self-conscious nature shrinking further back into secrecy. She began to question why she had even agreed to this, but had reasoned that a life with the only man who had ever stood up to her could only be an improvement on the life she had now. At that moment, however, as it began to seem much less likely that she would ever escape her father and the men around her, she grew to hate Fiyero Tiggular. "You forced me to accept this man against my will, this fancy con artist who was in such a hurry to get engaged." She raged, shoving her bouquet into her sister's arms.

"He has no intention of marrying me. I knew it – I told you. The whole thing was a joke. He pretends to be this simple, backward lord, but it's all a gag to amuse his witty friends." Frexspar could hardly respond; his daughter may have been an embarrassment to him, but she was never wrong and certainly not then. "He goes around proposing to women and they set a date, he gets introduced to their friends and family, they send out the invitations and make a public announcement, but he has no intention of going through with it. So now everyone will point at me and say, 'Look, there goes the wife of that comedian Fiyero – if he could be bothered to marry the pathetic thing!'" She cried, her cheeks flushed. She wrapped her arms around her body and her brow furrowed deeply.

Tibbett spoke then; he had a strange feeling that told him he disliked seeing the young mistress so upset. It seemed that though she was an abnormality, no woman of her station deserved such a slight as to be stood up on her wedding day. "No, no, I assure you, Elphaba, and you, too, Frexspar, Fiyero means well, whatever circumstance prevents him from keeping his word. He's rough-edged, but he's a good man, and though he likes a joke, he's not a liar." He assured them.

"Maybe, but I wish I'd never laid eyes on him." She whispered, her eyes wet and cowering.

Frexspar panicked, and felt an unusual sense of protection over her. "Go, daughter. I cannot blame you now for weeping. An insult like this would try the patience of a saint, let alone a hot-tempered shrew like you!"

Elphaba winced at his name for her, but turned and entered the church alone. Once inside, she sat herself on a back bench and smoothed her muslin gown over her body, wondering if it would do for some other occasion, or if she should donate it to a girl whose fiancé would not abandon her.

Outside, Frexspar's heart lifted when he heard hooves approaching the drive, but it was only Crope. "Master, master! I have news! Old news such as you never heard before!" He exclaimed as he dismounted.

The old man frowned, confused and angry that he was confused. "You say you have news that's old? How can that be?" He shouted, gripping the man's lapels so madly that Tibbett had to wrench him off.

"Well, is it not news that Fiyero's coming?" He finally said, sarcastically. Dusting his shirt as though Frexspar was suffering from a contagious disease.

"Is he here?" The Governor demanded.

"Why, no, sir." Crope replied.

"What then?"

"He is coming." Crope confirmed, smiling.

Frexspar clapped his hands together in delight and cheered, sending Nessarose in to inform her sister. "When will he be here?"

"When he stands where I am and sees you there."

Tibbett sighed at the word play and rubbed his eyes. "So what's the old news?"

"Well, Fiyero is coming in a new hat and an old vest, a pair of old pants turned inside out, unmatched boots that have been used as spittoons, one buckled, the other laced; a rusty old sword from the town armoury with a broken hilt and no scabbard. He's got on worn-out garters and is riding a swayback old horse with a moth-eaten saddle, stirrups from two different sets, a bad hip, swollen glands, lockjaw, leg ulcers, bedsores, arthritis, jaundice, a hernia, hives, worms, a mossy overbite, and post-nasal drip. He's knock-kneed too. His bit's lopsided and his cardboard bridle, which breaks when you pull on it, is taped in a few places. The saddle strap is made out of patchwork, and the strap that goes under his tail to keep the saddle in place is velvet, with the initials of some woman written in studs." He said, taking several deep breaths.

Frexspar's chin hit the floor. "Who comes with him?"

"Just his servant, sir. Pretty much got up like the horse, with a linen stocking on one leg and a big woollen boot on the other, a pair of red and blue garters, and an old hat with something no one's ever seen before where the feather should be. He's dressed like a freak, a total freak, and not at all like a proper footman or a gentleman's valet." He told the man.

Tibbett was in disbelief. "He must be in a strange mood to go in for this fashion – though from time to time he has been known to dress down." He admitted.

Frexspar sighed. "I am glad he's coming, however he's dressed." He said, resigned, and turned away to stand out of the sun.

"Why, sir, he's not coming."

The Governor blanched. "Didn't you just say he was?"

"Who? Fiyero?"

He shook with fury. "Yes, Fiyero!"

"No, I said his horse is coming, with him on its back."

"Well, that's the same thing!" He raged, looking slightly like his eldest daughter. Many men often wondered what their mother had been like.

Crope winked and knocked his feet together. "No, by Saint Jamy, I'll bet you a penny! A man and his horse aren't the same person! Not that there's much difference!" He chuckled, rubbing his stomach.

Before Frexspar could run the man through with his sword, the drive was suddenly graced by the presence of the groom and his groomsman himself. The Governor felt a fatal heart-attack was imminent.

"Whoa! Where is everybody?" Fiyero smiled, and jumped eagerly and easily from his horse, which hoofed at the ground and whinnied impatiently, much like all of the wedding guests.

"You are welcome, sir." Hissed the Governor through his clenched teeth.

"I don't feel well." He lied, grinning and laughing merrily.

"I don't notice you limping." Frexspar pointed out.

"And I would like it if you were a bit more formally dressed." Tibbett said, annoyed.

"Isn't it better this way? But where is Phae? Where is my lovely bride? How is my father-in-law? Gentlemen, you seem displeased. What's everyone staring at? You look as if you'd seen something unusual – a comet or something." He remarked, as Frexspar noted that he was not stupidly dressed as his servant had reported, but looked as though he was off to visit an Aunt rather than marrying a Governor's daughter.

"Why, sir, you know this is your wedding day." Frexspar reminded him. "First we were sad because we were afraid you wouldn't come. Now we're even sadder to see that you've come so unprepared. For heaven's sake, take off that get-up. It's a disgrace to a man of your social position and an insult to this solemn ceremony." Fiyero looked down at his garb, rather pleased than he managed to so successfully insult them all.

"And tell us what extraordinary occurrence made you so late for your wedding and drove you to present yourself in an outfit that's so – not typical of you." Tibbett said, unable to word it another way.

"It's a long story and tough to listen to." He said, waving them off. "It is enough that I'm here according to my promise, though I will have to deviate from it to some extent for reasons which, when I explain them later, you' shall understand completely." He said, with absolutely no intention of doing so. "But where is Phae? We are wasting time here. It's getting late and time we were in church."

"Don't greet your bride in these disgraceful clothes. Go to my room and put on something of mine." Tibbett suggested.

"Not me." Fiyero said, pushing the man away roughly so that he stumbled in the dirt. "I'll see her like this."

"But surely you're not planning to marry her in what you're wearing!" Frexspar yelled out.

Fiyero stood back and addressed his father-in-law. "Yes, just like this. But enough talk. It's me she's marrying and not my clothes." He said. "Though I expect she'll wear me out more quickly than I'll wear out what I'm wearing – which will be good for her and even better for me!" He winked, hoping against hope that Elphaba could not actually hear him. "But what a fool I am to stand here chatting when I should bid good morning to my bride and seal the bargain with a loving kiss." He said, and calling Avaric to his side, entered the church as happy as a Lark.

Tibbett scrambled after him. "He must be wearing this crazy outfit for some reason. I'll try to persuade him to put on something more appropriate before going to the church, if it's at all possible." The Governor, his heart in his throat, followed the servant at his heels in a panic.

As the ceremony commenced with all the folly of a badly planned match, Tibbett and his master Boq drowned their sorrows in the hall of the house of the Governor in anticipation of the arrival of the guests for the wedding banquet, though neither man looked particularly pleased at the prospect. Over thick, buttery meads they sat hunched, lit dimly by lamps covered over with damask silks.

"But sir," said Tibbett, wiping his beer sodden lip with his sleeve, "You need to get her father's consent as well as her love. And to that end, as I explained to your worship, I'm looking for a man – any man, it doesn't matter; we'll suit him to our purpose – who can pretend to be your father, Vincentio." He told him, honestly. "And he'll guarantee the dowry – for even more money than I have promised on your behalf. This way, you shall have your wish and marry sweet Nessarose with her father's consent and with the least possible hassle." He said, bashing the unbalanced wooden table over which they were leaning and causing the liquid to slosh unpleasantly to the floor.

Boq cursed and mopped it up as best he could with a cloth. "If my fellow schoolmaster weren't keeping such a close watch on her, I'd think about eloping." He pointed out, raising an eyebrow distrustfully at his servant, whose word he was beginning to doubt as much as the word of a fishwife. "Then it wouldn't matter what anyone said and I would keep what is mine, whatever the rest of the world said."

"Don't worry, I'm looking into that too." He said, leaving the beer to congeal on the table until it became a disgustingly sticky texture. "I'm on top of the situation. I am monitoring it very closely." He promised, aware that he was treading on paper-thin ice. "We shall outwit them all! That old geezer, Gremio; the suspicious father, Frexspar; the prim musician lover, Litho and all for the sake of my master, Boq!" He said, raising a now half-empty tankard to his master. Boq sneered at the plan, but short of abandoning the whole thing, he knew it was his best bet. He would have Nessarose come what may. "Signor Gremio, are you coming from the church?"

Boq startled and turned to see the gentleman enter the tavern and pull a chair noisily to their table and complaining to himself that they must now both assume their disguises. He looked fairly miserable. "As eagerly as I ever came from school." He grunted.

"And will the bride and bridegroom be here soon?" Tibbett asked eagerly.

Gremio guffawed, much to their confusion; Tibbett's stomach clenched and he wondered if it could really have been much worse than it was when he left the church. "Bridegroom? This guy is more like the groom who cleans the stable; a grumbling groom at that, as the poor girl is discovering." Gremio lamented, tapping the table for a beer and making a face when he touched the sticky surface.

"You mean he's worse than she is? That's not possible!" Tibbett said.

"No, he's a devil! A devil, I tell you! An utter fiend!"

Tibbett denied it. "No, she's a devil! A devil, I tell you. The devil's grandmother!" He insisted, laughing. Boq only chuckled in response.

Gremio pointed his finger at the two men. "Why, she's a lamb, a dove, a child compared to him!" He repeated, nodding. "Picture this: when the priest asked Elphaba if she would have him, he answered, 'Hell, yes!' and swore so loud that the priest dropped the prayer book." Both Tibbett and Boq paled. "Everyone froze, and as the priest stooped to pick it up again the lunatic bridegroom smacked him so hard that the priest and book went flying! Then he said, 'Now pick them up—if anyone dares.'"

"Good God! What did the girl say when the priest got up?" Boq asked, his own heart sinking for the poor girl.

"She trembled and shook because he stamped and swore and carried on as though the vicar were trying to put something over on him." Tibbett leaned back and resorted to fanning himself, near fainting at the story of the pantomime wedding. "Finally, the ceremony done, he called for wine. 'A health!' he shouted, like some sailor aboard ship, carousing with his mates after a storm." Gremio picked up his mead and demonstrated. "Then he chugs the wine and throws the dregs in the sexton's face. Why? Because the fellow's beard looked thin, he said, and it seemed to be asking him for the dregs while he was drinking!" Boq's head was now in his hands, and he began to dread the evening before them more than he would a circumcision. "Next he slung his arm around the bride's neck and kissed her with such a smack that when they parted the sound of their lips made the whole church echo. That was the limit for me. I got out of there as fast as I could. I know the rest of the crowd isn't far behind me. It's disgraceful! You never saw such a mockery of a marriage in your life!"

The three men all paused to breathe. Their eyes wide as saucers and their hands shaking in fear of the lunacy of the bridegroom. They regretted the very moment it had occurred to them to use the insane Lord as bait for Elphaba. She may have been a shrew, but she was only a woman. This man was not even a gentleman, and now she was his. To their horror, not a few seconds after Gremio's horrific tale, they heard the minstrels take up their instruments and begin the tune which welcomed in the newlyweds. Standing, they prepared to plaster their faces with smiles and pass under the notice of Fiyero.

The groom looked as pleased as ever. Healthy, young, attractive and recently married, it was not Fiyero who seemed out of place, but the exhausted and terrified wedding guests who surrounded him. Elphaba looked deathly pale and red-faced all at once. Coupled with her green skin, she resembled a mannequin from some awful amateur show; her face so many different colours it would not be surprising if she was mistaken for a circus performer. Other than that she looked beautiful, her dress picking out a figure no one had known she possessed.

Nessarose and her father looked equally as bewildered, following the couple in, slumping and embarrassed. Frexspar was both angry at himself for pawning off his daughter to this lunatic of a husband and sorry that there was nothing he could do to help her. They were accompanied by Hortensio, Avaric and the guests, who, far from being shocked, had come to see this as the best evening's entertainment they had ever witnessed.

"Gentlemen and friends, thanks for bothering to come." Fiyero began once they reached the table, he standing proudly, while his wife sat in her chair, dejected and only half-present. "I know you expected me to stay to dinner and have prepared a celebratory feast, but as it happens I'm called away. So let me say goodbye." He said, to the shock of every soul in the room.

Frexspar stood and dashed to the man, grabbing his shoulder, and attempting to maintain a level-head. His cheek was threatening to twitch. "You're not thinking of leaving tonight, surely?"

Fiyero laughed and shook his head. "Not tonight – today!" Elphaba lifted her head from her hands and felt her pulse pick up even more than it had already. If the desire to run away had ever been felt, it was felt by her now as strongly as ever. "If you knew the reason, you would understand and would urge me to go rather than stay. Good friends, I thank you all for coming to see me wed this patient, sweet, virtuous wife. Dine with my father and drink a health to me. I have to leave. Goodbye to you all." He tossed an entire glass of champagne back and slammed it on the table, which had been clothed in the finest materials. All of which was now for naught.

"Please, stay till after dinner." Tibbett begged, if for Elphaba's sake more than anything else. The girl looked much like a deer pursued by a particularly vigorous hunting party. At least in the presence of her relatives she might find some comfort, but alone one could only imagine the ferocity of the dog she had married.

"Can't do it." Fiyero said.

"As a favour to me?" Gremio asked.

"Nope."

"As a favour to me?" Elphaba said, surprising them all by using the sweetest tone of voice that had ever passed her lips. Of course it still rang with fear and anger more than gentility, but the effect was not lost.

"I'm delighted." Her husband said to her, looking at her in a way that made her doubt the disposition of the man who had performed so hideously in church.

"Delighted to stay?" She asked, her eyes almost dancing with happiness.

"Delighted to hear you ask so nicely, but I won't stay in any case." He replied.

She sighed. "Look, if you love me, stay."

"Avaric, get me my horse." He demanded, utterly ignoring her.

"Yes, sir, they're ready. They've eaten themselves sick." Avaric said, gesturing past all the guests as they made their way from the hall, Fiyero dragging his wife by her arm.

"All right, then, do what you like." She hissed, wrenching her arm free. "I won't leave today. Not tomorrow, either. I'll leave when I'm good and ready. The door is open, sir. Feel free to use it." She said, holding a hand up to the door. Oddly, the men in the room felt themselves glad to hear she still had some fight. "Go on, wear your boots out! As for me, I shall leave when I like." She said, folding her arms. Fiyero eyed are carefully, as though she were a doll in a museum, but he said nothing and nor did he move, which infuriated her more. "If you are this high-handed to start with, I can imagine how arrogant and arbitrary you'll be as a husband."

Fiyero said. "Calm down, Phae. Please don't be angry."

Elphaba started. "I will be angry. What business is it of yours?" She said, her voice almost a shriek. "Gentlemen, on to the bridal dinner. I see a woman may be made a fool of if she doesn't have nerve enough to stand up for herself."

Bravely, she began to make her way back to her table, but her husband who was – unsurprisingly – much stronger than his wife, took her hand, picked her up by her waist and walked out of the hall with her flaying protests ricocheting off the walls. "They shall go in to the bridal dinner, Phae – they're yours to command. Obey the bride, guests!" He laughed, mocking her. "Go to the banquet: revel, feast, and carouse! Be wild and merry or go to hell. But as for my bonny Phae, she must come with me." He said, pausing at the door to see her father standing behind him, surrounded by his friends and cousins.

"No, don't puff out your chests and stamp and stare wonderingly. I will be master of what belongs to me! Here she is; I dare you to touch her!" He said, throwing her from his arms roughly. "I'll sue anyone in Oz who tries to stand in my way, no matter how powerful he is. Avaric, draw your sword! We are surrounded by thieves. Rescue your mistress! Prove yourself a man!" He said in a tirade, to the guests' amusement and the family's amazement. Elphaba, smiling sadly at her sister whose eyes were overflowing with tears, resigned herself to the care of Fiyero, and stood uselessly next to him, while he pretended to play at war. "Don't be afraid, sweet girl, I won't let them touch you. I'll protect you, Phae, against a million of them." He promised stupidly. Waving a dramatic goodbye, he shoved her and Avaric out of the door and onto their horses.

"No, let them go." Frexspar called to the more angry members of her family who went to protect her. "They're certainly a peaceful couple!" He said, trying to remember that he had at least got rid of the shrew from his house, and would never again have to hear her shrill tones in his house again. Thank the Unnamed God for small mercies.

"If they hadn't left soon, I would have died laughing." Gremio admitted, having begun to enjoy the little show the new couple put on for them.

"Of all the mad matches, this is by far the craziest." Tibbett remarked.

Boq, as Biq, turned to Nessarose, who seemed to have calmed down. "Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?"

Nessarose shook her head slowly; she still held her sister's bouquet in her hands. "That since she's mad herself, she's married a madman." She said, unhelpfully.

"I guarantee you, Fiyero's going to suffer from his Phae." Gremio predicted.

"Neighbours and friends, though we don't have anyone for the bride and bridegroom's places at the table, you know there's nothing missing in the feast itself." Frexspar said, turning to face the disgruntled hoards of guests who were disappointment that their favourite performer had left so early. "Boq," He said to Tibbett, "You shall assume the bridegroom's place and let Nessarose take her sister's seat."

Tibbett brightened and quickly forgot the poor elder sister as he took Nessarose's hand. "Shall sweet Nessarose practice how to be a bride?

"She shall, Boq." Frexspar said, answering for his daughter. "Come, gentlemen."

* * *

_Fiyero gets a well-deserved slap across the face for every review. ;)_


	5. Repent at Leisure

**_Author's Note: _**_I disclaim._

_Okay, so carrying on with this story despite the slightly disheartening lack of response. Thanks though to those of you who have reviewed, however. I really appreciate it. This is where the story begins to deviate from the play a little. _

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Avaric cursed every god under the Ozian sun as he dragged himself into the front hall of Lord Fiyero Tiggular's state home in the sun-kissed Vinkus. They had travelled relentlessly since they left Munchkinland, and on horseback no less. He ached and burned from saddlesore, despite being an experienced rider. He could not imagine how much pain his new Mistress was in, but last he saw before he rode on ahead she looked near to collapsing. And she still had to suffer through her wedding night, though ironically it had been two days since they set off.

"To hell with all worn-out horses, all crazy masters, and all bad roads." He coughed, tossing dirty cloaks to the floor. "Was a man ever beaten as much as me? Was a man ever as dirty as me? Was a man ever so tired? I have been sent on ahead to light a fire, and they are coming after to warm themselves. It's a good thing I'm like a little pot and warm up quickly, or else my lips themselves would freeze and stick to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and my heart would freeze in my belly, before I managed to get thawed out. I'll warm myself by blowing on the fire. A taller man than I would catch cold in weather like this. Hey! Curtis! Hello!" He called the minor-servant to him and he ran in, looking exhausted and irritated.

"Who calls so coldly?" He said, rubbing his eyes, having been woken from a nap he must have accidentally taken whilst the household waited for their master and mistress to arrive.

"A piece of ice." Avaric spat. "Trust me, you could slide all the way from my shoulder to my heel taking no more of a running start than the distance between my head and my neck. Start the fire, good Curtis." He said, calmer now.

"Are my master and his wife coming, Avaric?" Curtis asked, removing Avaric's travelling cloaks and muddied boots, and began polishing off his senior as best he could.

"Yes, yes, Curtis, so hurry up and start the fire. Leave out the water." Curtis nodded and set about the fire.

"Is she as fiery a shrew as they say?" He called from the hearth in the centre of the hall.

"Well she was, good Curtis, before this frost. But you know how winter tames man, woman, and beast. And it's tamed my old master and my new mistress and me, my good colleague." He said.

"Who are you calling 'beast' midget? You're no bigger than three inches!" Curtis laughed.

"Three inches? Really? Your horn is a foot long, and I'm at least that size. Now are you going to make a fire, or am I going to have to report you to our mistress, whose hand, now that she is herself at hand, you'll be feeling soon. You'll find it cold comfort, but that's what you get for being slow with your warming duties."

"So tell me, Avaric, how goes the world?" He asked, as the logs blast out in a breath of heat and flame.

"Cold, Curtis. It's a cold world, except for people who have to start fires. Therefore, do your duty and take your reward, because my master and mistress are nearly frozen to death."

Curtis stood proudly before his work, then licking at the stone frame which surrounded it. "The fire is ready. So go on, tell me the news." He asked, sitting himself on one of the plush chairs which sat before the fire. It really was a terribly splendid entrance hall, and a breathtaking house. Curtis had been proud to serve in it from his first moment.

"Why, Jack boy, ho boy!" and all the news you want." He sang, clicking his fingers and bundling his dirty clothes from sight.

"Oh, you're just so funny."

"Well, where's the cook? Is supper ready? Is the house fixed up, the floor covered, the cobwebs swept out of the corners, the servingmen in their new work clothes and the household servants each in his wedding suit? Are all the cups and glasses in their places, the tablecloths laid out?" Avaric asked, looking round as though he had ordered a welcoming fanfare. "Is everything in order?

"Everything's ready." He assured his friend, guiding him to sit opposite. "So tell me what's been going on." He said.

"Well, first of all, my horse is tired and my master and mistress have had a falling out." Avaric informed him sadly.

"How?" He asked, sorry to hear it, though hardly surprised.

"From their saddles into the dirt – but that's another story."

"Well, let's have it, Avaric." Curtis encouraged him, leaning forward eagerly.

"Lean forward."

"Here."

"There!" And Avaric struck his fellow across the ears, eliciting a child-like yelp from his throat.

"This is to feel the news, not hear it." Curtis yelled, smacking Avaric all over as best he could, though it looked much like a fish slapping about out of water.

"That's what makes it 'sensitive' news. I was just knocking to see if anyone was home." He chuckled, rather enjoying this game he loved to play. "Now, I'll begin: first, we came down a steep hill, my master riding behind my mistress –"

"Both on one horse?"

"What's the difference?" Avaric asked.

"Well, the difference of a horse!"

"Oh, tell it yourself if you're so smart. It's too bad. If you hadn't made me angry, you would have heard all about how her horse fell with her under it, how swampy the place was, too, and how she was covered in mud, and how he left her like that, with the horse on top of her, and how he beat me because her horse stumbled, and how she waded through the dirt to pull him off me, and how he swore, how she prayed – this woman who never prayed before – and how I yelled, and how the horses ran away, and how her bridle broke, and how I lost my riding crop, and many other things worth telling, which now will all be lost to memory, and you'll go to your grave ignorant." Avaric said, much to Curtis' amusement, having heard most of what he had wanted to be made aware of. What a thoroughly eventful life they would all lead.

"By the sound of it, he's a bigger shrew than she is." Curtis huffed, surprised to hear of his master acting this way. From his inauguration day through to the moment he had set off for Munchkinland, he had never known Lord Tiggular to act quite so stupidly. Of course, he was foolish; he had heard many stories of many women and far too many drunken stupors, but he sincerely wished he was taking his marriage seriously. Even if it was rashly undertaken. Marry in haste, repent at leisure.

"Yes, as you and the rest will find out as soon as he's home. But why am I telling you this? Get them in here – Nathel, Jhis, Salochin, Phip, and the rest." He shouted, and Curtis stood to ring the bell for the servants. "Tell them to slick down their hair, brush their blue coats, and make sure their socks match. Have them click their heels together and don't dare touch a hair of the master's horse's tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?" He demanded.

"They are." More than usually annoyed at the game Avaric loved to play in his master's absence called 'When he is not at home, I am in charge.'

"Get them in here." He shrieked.

"Hey! Does anyone hear me? Hey! You have to come and greet the master and face the new mistress." He called, knowing full well they disliked to follow Avaric's orders.

"She already has a face."

"Yeah, so?" Curtis moaned, turning back to face him reluctantly.

"You just said they had to face her." Avaric pointed out.

"I meant they had to give her credit." Curtis said.

"She's not going to borrow money from them." Curtis' irritated reply was cut short by the entrance of four or five servants, whose faces he knew were unknown by Avaric.

"Welcome home, Avaric." Said Phip.

"What's up, Avaric?" Said Nathel.

Jhis said. "Hey, Avaric!"

"My man Avaric!" Said Salochin.

Nathel strode up to Avaric and put an arm around him, winking at his friends. "So what's the story, old boy?"

"Welcome yourself! What's up with you? Hey to you!" He pushed Nathel away and bundled himself over to stand in line. "So much for greetings. Now, my well-dressed friends, is everything ready and in order?"

"Everything's ready. How soon will the master be here?" Nathel asked happily, desperate to lay eyes on their mistress. He had heard she was blue. He had prepared some jokes to cheer her up and a warm fire in case she was cold.

"Any minute. Probably here already. So be careful, and don't –" He stopped himself at the sound of horses approaching. "God! Quiet, I hear him coming."

The boys straightened themselves up, and trained their eyes on the door. What they saw was not quite expected, and Nathel felt a bit of a fool and immediately thought of which of his jokes would offend a green person. At least, he thought, she was still enjoy the fire. The master was in a beastly mood, unlike any they had ever witnessed before. It frightened half of them and amused the others. The mistress looked near to death, and walked with the obvious affliction of painful saddlesore. Jhis swallowed and hoped the master did not intend to ride her any more this evening.

"Where are those bastards?" Fiyero boomed, causing Elphaba to wince and cover her ears. "Where is the boy who's supposed to help me get off my horse and take him to the stable? Where is Nathel? Where's Jhis? Where's Phip?" He called, not bothering to recognise they were directly before him.

"Here, here, sir! Here, sir!" They replied.

"'Here, sir! Here, sir! Here, sir! Here, sir!' You stupid, unpolished dolts! I get no service, no respect, no attention! Where is the fool I sent on ahead?" He raged.

"Here, sir, as foolish as ever." Avaric said.

"You unwashed farmworker! You bastard workhorse drudge! Didn't I tell you to meet me outside and bring these morons with you?" Fiyero asked, boxing his ears twice with his flask until Elphaba hissed in sympathy with his pain.

"Nathel's coat was being fixed, sir. And one of Salochin's shoes had a broken heel. And Peter couldn't find a matching hat. And Walter couldn't get his dagger out of its sheath. Only Jhis and Phip and Curtis were ready. The rest were just a mess! But such as they are, sir, they're here to welcome you." Avaric said, hoping to avoid another beating. He certainly could not remember his master being in such a foul mood, though since he had been hit across the head so many times he could not actually be sure.

"Go, blockheads, go, and bring my supper to me." He raged, dismissing them all. Elphaba stared at her husband in disbelief. She was really too shocked to be frightened. After all, he had not actually hit her. Unwillingly, her arms burned and she focused on Fiyero to forget about them.

"Where is the life I led until recently?" Fiyero lamented, and Phae did not understand. "Sit down, Phae, make yourself at home. Come on, come on, come on, come on." He said again and again until she obliged him and sat down more fiercely than she would normally to make sure he knew she was sitting down at his request.

"Smile, Phae! Be happy. Get my boots off, you apes! You idiots, now!" He yelled to the servants' door as he sat opposite her. Phip flew threw the door and knelt at his master's feet to pull them off to the best of his ability. Curtis watched from the door and made a note to train the boys in how to properly remove shoes. "Stop, you moron! You're twisting my foot! See you do a better job with the other one. Be happy, Phae!" He told her, upon seeing her worried frown. "Bring me some water! Where are my slippers? Can we have some water here? Come and wash, Phae, make yourself at home. Son of a bitch, you spilled it!" Fiyero stood and began whacking young Jhis for all he was worth. Elphaba gasped and grabbed his arms, yelling.

"Take it easy! Please! It was just an accident!" She pleaded, standing between the servant and her husband, to Jhis' pleasure and surprise. He was beginning to understand what his master was doing. Those hits he had applied were no more powerful than a breath of air. He had hired a bunch of servants who seemed to be very good actors. Well, enough for his wife to be fooled.

"He's a son of a bitch, a moron, a total jerk." He said, striding forward but leaving the servant and taking Elphaba's hands back to the hearth. "Come sit down, Phae, I know you must be hungry. Will you say grace, sweet Phae, or shall I? What is this? Mutton?"

"Yes." Phip replied, hoping he could place the food down on their occasional table before he lost the feeling in his arms, or he ate the food himself.

"Who brought it out here?" He asked, stupidly.

"I did." Phip replied, still holding the mutton. He could see Elphaba breathing in and licking her lips. Elphaba's mouth watered painfully and could barely resist grabbing the whole chop herself and shoving it down her throat. She had eaten nothing more than water and bread.

"It's burnt."

"What?" Elphaba spat.

"The whole thing is burnt. You bastards!" He railed, and Elphaba fell back into her chair, wishing her husband would suddenly lose the ability to speak. "Where is that moron of a cook? You devils! How dare you serve it to me this way! There, take it all back; plates, cups, the whole thing." He screamed, throwing the meat and everything else around the room, creating an almighty mess and causing the appearance of a dozen unnecessary servants.

"Please, dear, calm down. The meat was fine if you wanted to eat it." Elphaba pleaded with her husband, taking his hands and touching his reddened face with her fingers to soothe him.

"And I'm telling you it was burnt and dried out." He said, though his tone echoed her own soft one. "I'm not allowed to eat overcooked meat. It gives me indigestion and that makes me irritable. Very, very irritable." Elphaba wondered if she would not mind being full and suffering his temper. "Better for us to go hungry, since we're both hotheaded, than for us to eat meat that's been cooked too long. But don't worry, tomorrow it will get straightened out. Tonight we'll go without food. Come, I'll show you your bridal chamber." He took her reluctantly from the food, which she would have eaten from the floor, and did not see her scratch at her wrists as she trailed behind him.

"Jhis, did you ever see anything like it?" Nathel asked, as they stood with trays covered in food and began to look forward to polishing it off themselves.

"He's giving her a taste of her own medicine." Jhis replied.

"Where is he?" Nathel asked Curtis, who shook his head at the entire business.

"In her room," he replied, "lecturing her on the virtues of self-control. He rants and rails and swears and she, poor thing, doesn't know how to stand or look or speak. She sits like a person who's just woken up from a dream."

In her room, Elphaba sat in silence, having removed herself mentally from the ridiculously angry performance of her husband on her duties as his wife. It seemed her active participation in this role would not necessarily be required, as he liked to take a very interested view of her comings and goings. She debated on whether or not she should ask him if he would like to wipe her backside, too, considering that, as a woman, she would not know the most efficient and successful method of completing that task. As she pondered this thought, she smiled.

"Ah! You agree? Splendid, splendid, splendid and so you should! You must always agree with me!" Elphaba watched him fling open the door that connected her own bedchamber to his and waved his arm about this way and that until a servant girl ran and stood before him, her face flushed and her hands shaking. Elphaba thought the servants were behaving rather oddly if this was the regular attitude of their master. She was learning to placate him, but she knew there were some things to which she would struggle to submit. "You – listen carefully and don't disobey me or my wife, who agrees with me wholeheartedly on this!" He said, and the girl glanced at Elphaba, who only shrugged. "What are you doing with those sheets? Drunken fools! Take them off and throw them out; I want only the best for my wife! What idiot taught you lot to fold cover – what kind of material is that and who made it? Who pressed these throws? A crease here, there and everywhere. How am I to force my wife to even look upon a mess such as this? It is a disgrace, an abomination – are you lunatics?" He yelled, a slight crack creeping into his voice. Elphaba could hear him thrusting the bed sheets across the room and said to herself that it was her husband who was the lunatic.

She stood at the door to his room; aside from the man who was lord of it all, Kiamo Ko was a magnificent hold. Rather than the dark and damp wood she had grown to know at home, this place was built from fine, strong stone. It was white over most of its exterior, and though she now knew the path from the entrance hall to the master suites, she could tell that the house would prove a masterfully difficult labyrinth for her. She liked that; perhaps she could hide from her husband – unless he intended to strap her in a leash and lead her about beside him like a little dog. With a deep breath, she faced the painful thought that it would not be entirely out of character.

Their room was richly furnished and warm. It was large and she had her own separate closet in which she could walk as though it were something that _required_ an entirely separate room. Still, it was beautifully decorated and had long, clear mirrors she could stand before to presumably admire her garb. She had an adjoining washroom which was tiled in mosaics and had windows whose glass was frosted so she would not be disturbed by peeping toms. She laughed at the thought of any creature wishing to see her in the nude.

Her large bed was dressed in satin and white cotton sheets. Even standing as far away as she did, she could feel how plush and thick the pillows were. The overthrow was dark plum and woven from soft sheepskin. It had four posts and at either side were tied gold curtains with what looked like delicate designs sewn into them. She wondered what story they told. Her mouth watered at the sight of it; she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Alone and undisturbed.

Elphaba worried Fiyero's tirade was an effort to place himself in her bed for the night. It seemed she was never to sleep; her backside still stung from riding in that damned saddle. She was no horsewoman. When was she meant to tend to that problem?

"Ha! A dolt young man! I should not have you breathe the same air as my pigs! Get out! Get out all of you! Leave, now!" Fiyero shouted, and each man and woman could not scramble from that room fast enough. Once they had left, there was a curious moment of silence, where her husband seemed to catch his breath. It was not to last, of course, but Elphaba enjoyed it nonetheless. "Phae!" He said, far too loudly for that time of night, and spread his arms before him, inviting her into his room. Though it looked as though some rogue had gone through it looking for jewels. "Come and see this mess – what do you think?"

"I think you'll struggle to sleep. What possessed you to throw it all about? The sheets are soft," she said, picking them up and handing them to him. "The pillows – Fiyero they are the most comfortable I have ever touched. Please, go to sleep." She begged, in a voice she had never before used, and never yet known she could. She looked at him earnestly, but his silence and his stare made her feel awkward, and she was forced to avert her eyes. "Shall I make it for you?" She asked, raising her brow and whipping sheets and covers and throws into her arms and tossing them onto the bed to make them up. "Is that why you did this? How would you like it done? How shall I fold them? You did not like the way it had been done before, so I shall endeavour not to duplicate it, but you must let me know how it should be done, for then I shall know how mine might be arranged."

"Stop."

She obeyed him and cursed herself for allowing her voice to grow shrill. It was only that she was tired. "I apologise. I'll not say another word." She promised, and hated herself for it.

"No, stop." He said again, and took steps until he was close to her and had taken the pillows from her. "I do not care about that. I want you to tell me what this is." His voice had a quality about it that made her think he was consoling her, but her throat tightened when he lifted her wrists up and pushed back her sleeves. She felt a wave of fear as he laid eyes on the red and angry slashes and slits that danced and struck across the sensitive skin of her wrists. There were old ones from her first ventures and recent cuts from new worries. Around them the skin was enflamed and scabbing, but Elphaba could no longer see them as her eyes glassed over in a wetness she had not known since she wore short skirts.

Fiyero did not say a word. He let her shove him back and lock the door to her room without a word. He called in Curtis to aid him in making his bed and thanked the servant when he asked if the mistress was alright. Fiyero called him away and asked him not to speak of it. He apologised for his behaviour and told him to add five crowns to the wages of every affected staff member that month.


	6. To Command the Sun

_**Author's Note: **I disclaim any right to works by Maguire or Shakespeare._

_Sorry for the lengthy silence but I was back in London seeing Wicked - and what an experience that was! Anyway, regular updates will return now so I hope I haven't lost any of you.  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

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By the break of dawn the next morning, the Mistress of House Tiggular had both resigned herself to the oddities of her husband for the time being, and decided to be more proactive as regarded her food and sleeping arrangements. The firmly locked door to her bedchamber was a start, and her addressing her husband's manservant was another. She found Avaric as he left his master's study and followed him into the servant's corridor, where she ambushed him and begged to be brought some sustenance.

The servant, however, was not obliging. "No, no, I can't, really. He'd kill me." Avaric warned.

Elphaba groaned and held up against the wall with her icy stare. "The more I suffer, the more spiteful he becomes. Did he marry me just to starve me? Beggars at my father's door are given money as soon as they ask for it and if they do not find charity there, they find it someplace else." She told him, and the man began to appreciate her paleness as she stood before him. "But I, who have never known how to beg and never had to beg, am starved for food, dizzy with lack of sleep, kept awake with curses and fed with brawling." She hissed. "And what irks me more than all these things put together is that he does it under the pretence of love! As though for me to eat or sleep would bring on fatal illness or sudden death. Please, go and get me something to eat. I don't care what so long as it's nutritious." She finished, her hands folded together as though in prayer.

Avaric sighed and rubbed his eyes. The Mistress backed away, hoping to get what she wanted. "What do you say to a calf's foot?"

Elphaba beamed. "I pray, let me have it."

"I'm afraid it will raise your blood pressure." Avaric considered. "What do you say to an ox stomach, nicely broiled?"

"I like it well." She grinned, breathless with thanks. "Good Avaric, fetch it me."

"I don't know. I'm afraid it will make you too hot, too. What do you say to a piece of beef with mustard?"

Elphaba shifted uneasily. "A favourite dish of mine." She said, feeling as though the conversation was taking an unfortunate turn.

"Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little." Avaric shrugged.

"Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest." She spat.

"Absolutely not. You'll take the mustard or you'll get no beef from Avaric."

She moaned. "Then both, or one, or anything you like." She stamped her foot and stalked away from him.

"How about the mustard without the beef?" He called after her.

"Get out of here, you measly, lying wretch!" Elphaba turned on him, thrashing her strong arms over his head and shoving him back from her. "You feed me with only the names of foods. To hell with you and the whole pack of you who triumph at my misery. Go on, I said get out of here!" She yelled, having reached the hallway again. Avaric disappeared amongst the shower of insults, giggling to himself, as Elphaba leaned her head against the wall, almost ready to give in to tears.

All of a sudden, from the entrance hall below, Elphaba heard the voice of her husband calling. "How is my Phae? Where is my Phae?" Elphaba walked down to him, and he addressed her as she descended the carpeted stairs. "Feeling blue, darling?" She did not respond, hoping against hope that her pale colour would speak for her.

"Mistress, how are you?" Asked the only other gentleman whom she did not recognise.

"Darling, my old friend, Evard, Lord of the Scrow." Her husband informed her.

"Well met, my Lord." She said, allowing him to kiss her hand graciously and accepting his bow.

"Are you well, my Lady?" He inquired, his eyes darting from her to Fiyero, as he was unsure of the health she claimed to have.

"Believe me, I've been better." She replied, quietly.

"Cheer up." Fiyero said with no more than a glance at her. "Give us a smile. Look, love, see how devoted I am? I've prepared a meal for you myself, and here it is." He gestured to the vaulted room on their right which was a drawing-room of sorts, and on whose main table he had set out a fair meal. "I am sure, sweet Phae, this kindness deserves thanks. What, not a word?" He said, when she was too shocked and scared of its being removed to speak. "I guess you don't want it. Ah well, all my trouble was for nothing. Here, take away the dish." He clicked at some servants.

"Please, leave it here." She begged, and her voice was so desperate and quiet as the night, that Fiyero was startled.

He stopped, holding a hand in the air and keeping the servant away. "The smallest service is repaid with thanks. Mine will be, too, before you touch the food." He said, gratefully.

Elphaba smiled sincerely. "Thank you, sir."

Fiyero smiled as Elphaba sat down before the food and began to eat for the first time in five days. He felt supremely guilty once her saw how hungry she truly was, her noble manners almost forgotten as she devoured. He turned to Evard and whispered in his ear. "Do me a favour and eat as much of it as you can, Evard." He asked of him, and the man sat down, though he was hardly likely to do as Fiyero asked. Evard nibbled politely on a breadstick. "May it do your gentle heart good, Phae. Eat up quickly, my honey lamb, the tailor is waiting to deck you out in ruffled finery."

_My honey lamb? _Elphaba thought, as she nodded at the Tailor's entrance. He was squat man, dressed in navy blue, with a proud nose and upturned toes. He held a gown in a black garment bag and a hatbox. "Now, tailor, let's see what you've got. Lay out the gown. What can I do for you, sir?" Fiyero asked the man. Elphaba continued to eat at the table, as her seat already afforded her a good view of the situation.

"Here is the cap your Worship ordered."

Elphaba laughed at his error, and Fiyero caught her eyes and laughed, too. They shared a moment; miniscule, but for some reason it gave Elphaba a chill. A warm chill. It was as though they had been married for years during that one moment, and enjoyed one other's camaraderie.

"Your Lordship, my good man." Fiyero corrected him. "Though I appreciate the compliment, as my wife does." He said, and Elphaba smiled again. The Tailor apologised and removed the lid from the hatbox, presenting the item to his customer. Elphaba had to admit (though she was no judge on fashion) that it was a well-made and beautiful hat. It would suit her well. "Why, this was modelled on a porridge bowl!" She started, her husband clearly did not agree. "It's a velvet dish! No, definitely not! It's cheap and nasty! It's like a cockleshell or a walnut shell, a joke, a prank, a doll's cap. Take it away. Bring me a bigger one." He demanded, to the tailor's utter terror.

Elphaba stood, addressing her asinine husband. "I won't have one any bigger. This is the fashion. Gentlewomen are wearing caps like this right now."

"When you are gentle, you shall have one, too, and not till then." Fiyero told her.

"That won't be anytime soon." Evard said to himself, while the couple frowned angrily at one another.

"Sir, I think I have the right to speak, and speak I certainly will." She said proudly. "I am not a child or an infant. Better men than you have heard me speak my mind, and if you can't take it, then you'd better plug your ears. I'll express my anger or die concealing it. And rather than have that happen, I'll give myself permission to speak as freely as I like, whatever I may have to say."

"You know, you're right." Fiyero said, his tone changing to a more gentle pitch, which confused her. She was beginning to realise that she would never win with him. "It's a measly little cap, a dessert crust, a plaything, a silk pie. I love you all the more for not liking it."

"I don't care if you love me or not, I like the cap and I'll have it or I won't have any."

"Now, your gown?" He asked, causing the Tailor to jump and return the hat to its box swiftly. Elphaba did not quite understand what had happened. What would become of that gown? "Yes, yes. Come, tailor, show it to us. Merciful God! What sort of costume do we have here? What do you call this? A sleeve? It's like a cannon. What have you done? Carved it up and down like an apple tart? Snip and slash! It's got more holes than a sieve! What in the world do you call this, tailor?"

"I see she's likely to have neither cap nor gown." Evard said to himself, while the Tailor flustered about with his precious material.

The terrified tailor swallowed and straightened himself up to his full height – which was not all that impressive compared to Fiyero. "You told me to make it well and properly and in keeping with the current style."

"Certainly, I did. But if you remember, I didn't tell you to parody the style. Go on home, sir. You've lost me as a customer. I won't take it. Do whatever you want with it."

Elphaba could not stand the devastation she saw in the poor tailor's eyes. "I never saw a better-designed gown, more elegant and pleasing and well made. Perhaps you think you can make me into some sort of plaything?" She said to Fiyero angrily.

"Yes, that's it!" He clicked his fingers. "The tailor thinks he can make you into some sort of plaything." Elphaba balked and collapsed into her chair. In sympathy, Evard filled a plate with sweetmeats and handed to her with a smile. She thanked him silently.

"She says your Lordship thinks _you_ can make her into some sort of plaything." The Tailor reminded him.

Fiyero gasped dramatically, causing them all the jump, as though he had been attacked by a thief with a knife. "What monstrous arrogance! It's a lie, you thread, you thimble, you measurement! You flea, you louse, you winter cricket! Disrespected in my own house by a spool of thread!" He pointed madly at the door. "Get out of here you rag, you remnant, you piece of yardage, or I'll measure you within an inch of your life with your own yardstick, and you'll remember your yammering for the rest of your life. I tell you, you've ruined her gown!"

"It's not true." The Tailor begged as though it were for his life. "The gown was made just as my master was directed. Avaric gave the order for how it should be done."

Avaric was brought through to stand before them, avoiding the evil eye that Elphaba gave him. "I gave him no order. I gave him the material." He claimed.

"Ah, but how did you want it made?" The Tailor asked.

Avaric replied. "With a needle and thread."

"But didn't you expect us to cut the cloth?" Retorted the Tailor.

"You've faced many things, haven't you?" Avaric asked him.

"I have."

"Well, don't face off with me." The servant warned. "You have bested many things, well don't try and best me. I will not be faced or bested. I tell you I requested that your master cut out the gown, but I didn't ask him to cut it all to pieces. Therefore, it follows you're a liar."

"Why, here is the order to prove it." Said the Tailor, tired of the insanity of this servant and his master.

"Read it." Fiyero commanded, pointing at the Tailor.

"The note is a big fat liar if it says I said so." Avaric claimed.

"'Item one, a loose-bodied gown—'"

"Master, if ever I said 'loose-bodied gown,' sew me into the skirts of it and beat me to death with a bobbin of brown thread. I said 'a gown.'" Avaric pleaded, though both Elphaba and Evard noted beads of sweat on his forehead.

"'The sleeves carefully cut.'" The Tailor continued.

"Ah, there's the problem." Fiyero interjected, as though he had solved an equation. Elphaba was merely glad this little game did not star her.

"Error in the bill, sir, error in the bill!" Avaric said, jumping on his chance. "I ordered that the sleeves be cut out and sewn up again, and I'll prove it in combat even if your little finger is armed with your thimble."

"What I say is true. And if this were a fitting place, I'd prove it."

"I am ready for you. You take the bill and I'll take your yardstick. Do your worst!"

Evard stood and forced the servant to stand back. He was far stronger than Avaric, who seemed to realise this, too. "God have mercy, Avaric! He won't have a chance." Evard told him in low, gruff tones. Elphaba watched Evard carefully, thinking how handsome he was. Her attentiveness was not lost on Fiyero.

"Well, sir, the gown is not for me." Fiyero told the Tailor, with slightly less enthusiasm than before.

"You are right, it's for my mistress." Avaric said, over the shoulders of Evard as the Tailor left with his head hanging.

Fiyero watched as Elphaba shook her head at him and took Evard aside without her noticing. "Evard, tell the tailor you'll make sure he gets paid, will you?" Evard sighed and agreed quickly, following the direction of the Tailor.

"Ah well, my Phae. What do you think?" Fiyero addressed her, taking a seat on the empty cushion next to hers. Elphaba eyed him carefully. She felt as though it would be beyond him to tip the table over, and she consciously held onto the surface as a result. "Our purses shall be rich, our garments poor. After all, it's the mind that enriches the body, and just as the sun shines through the darkest clouds, well, that's how clearly honour peeps through even the humblest style of dress."

"And where does my Lord intend for us to go this evening that it matters what we wear?" Elphaba inquired, hoping it was no great trial.

"Nowhere." He replied, dismissing her question. Elphaba blinked, unsure of even the time of day anymore. She felt tired. "And by the same token," Fiyero said, taking up his lecture again, "You are worth no less for your simple clothes and lack of finery. If you regard it as shameful, put the shame on me." He told her. Out of ideas, she merely nodded and smiled.

"Let's see," He said, checking his watch. "I think it must be seven o'clock, so we should get to breakfast soon. We shall eat outside, for it is a fine day for such an early time of the morning."

Elphaba exchanged a glance with Evard, who had returned. "I hate to say it, but it's almost two in the afternoon, my Lord. We should not even sit to dinner for another four hours at least."

Fiyero approached her, ignoring the flinch which made him feel almost cruel. "It shall be seven o'clock before I get on my horse. Whatever I say, or think, or do, you're continually contradicting it." He accused her, causing her expression to darken. Fiyero turned to Evard. "Sir, never mind. We won't go out for breakfast today or any day until it is clear that it shall be whatever time I say it is."

He stormed off upstairs, presumably to his study to scheme. Evard watched his wife, close to rage, leave through the front door in silence. He saw her wandering through the grounds as though she were lost.

"I see this fellow intends to command the sun." Evard whispered.


	7. Marry in Secret

_**Author's Note: **I disclaim any rights to the works of Maguire and Shakespeare. _

_A shorter chapter this time, but an important one nonetheless, as the sub-plot develops in Munchkinland. Thanks to those who have reviewed - it really makes my day!  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

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Tibbet dashed to the red door of Colwen House, his men following with less vigour than their friend. With them was an unknown and unreasonably trusted merchant, whose services they had acquired to perform the role of Vinobold, Boq's father. The real man was not in the country and being a man of principles and honesty he would not have approved of his son's scheme. As a result, the young men had decided against sharing their intentions and decided to simply deal with the consequences later – much like many young men of similar age and talents.

Dressed as his master, Tibbet halted at the door and paused before knocking. "Sir, this is the house. Would you like me to ring?"

"Yes, certainly." The merchant replied. "Unless I am mistaken, Signior Frexspar may remember me from the Pegasus in Ix, where we both stayed twenty years ago."

Tibbet sighed. "Fine, fine. Just play your part and act as serious as a father should." He warned, whacking the older man's lapel in an effort to seem threatening.

"Of course I will." The merchant reminded him. "But, sir, here comes your servant. Better fill him in." The merchant said, pointing in the direction of the breathless Crope as he bounded toward them.

"Don't worry about him." Tibbet grabbed Crope's shirt sleeves and held him up forcefully. The younger servant panicked, never having seen the man act in such an erratic manner. This woman he was chasing was making him mad. "You there, Crope, now act your part convincingly. Behave as though this were the real Vinobold."

"Tut, fear not me." Crope scoffed, shoving him off, disgruntled.

"And did you take the message to Frexspar?"

"I told him that your father was in the Uplands, and that you expected him to arrive in Munchkinland today." Crope informed him, happy to prove that he was not a useless pawn in his master's game.

"Good lad!" Tibbet croaked, then, laughing like a drunkard, he clapped his hands together and tossed a few brass coins to Crope. "Here, buy yourself a drink on me." Crope smiled ungratefully, counting the coins and realising they would barely pay for a button. "Here comes Frexspar. Places, everyone!" Tibbet hissed, shoving the men behind him. The merchant removed his cap and held it to his breast, all of a sudden taking on the demeanour of a wise and worldly old man.

"Signior Frexspar, I'm glad to see you." Tibbet addressed the gentleman who rewarded him with a gracious bow. "Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of. I hope you'll be a good father to me now. Give me Bianca for my inheritance."

The merchant coughed gruffly, stepping forward of his new son and acknowledging the red-cloaked patriarch. "Hush, son. Sir, may I?" Frexspar gave him permission to speak. "Having come to Munchkinland to collect some debts, my son Boq acquainted me with a serious matter, namely the love between your daughter and himself. Now, since I've heard good reports of you, and in view of the love between your daughter and my son, I'm willing to give my consent to his marriage right away." He spoke clearly and with a great confidence. Tibbet beamed with joy, so happy his master's scheme seemed to be passing off and exchanging excited looks with Boq, dressed as the schoolteacher who had accompanied Frexspar on his outing. "So, if you think you can put up with no worse a man than I am, you'll find me willing, pending some agreement, to see your daughter betrothed to him." The merchant continued, playing off Vinobold rather too well for Boq's liking. He wondered if the man was a player at the actor's house. "I can't haggle with you, Signior Frexspar. I have too much respect for you."

"Sir, pardon me for what I am about to say." Frexspar said, holding his gloved hand in the air. "I appreciate your frankness and your brevity. It is true that your son Boq here loves my daughter, and she loves him or else they're putting on quite an act." He laughed, winking at Tibbet. "Therefore, provided that you assure me that you will treat your son as a father should and offer my daughter a sufficient dowry, we'll call it a match and be done with it. Your son will have my consent to marry my daughter." Frexspar promised.

Tibbet thanked him, red-faced with glee and breathless with pride. "Where can we draw up the necessary papers and get this settled?" He added hastily.

Frexspar chuckled. "Not in my house, Boq, for you know pitchers have ears, and I have many servants. Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still, and happily we might be interrupted." He warned, aware of the lecherous and unforgiving nature of his friend.

"Then at my place, if you like." Tibbet offered, knowing all too well that his master would be left alone with young Nessarose, having been housed in Colwen Grounds since his employment began. "That's where my father's staying. We can get everything sorted out in private there tonight. Send your servant for Nessarose. Mine shall go and fetch the notary. The only drawback is that, with such short notice, we'll be able to offer you only modest refreshment."

"This is all very acceptable." Frexspar agreed, waving off the inconvenience of a less elegant spread. "Cambio, hurry home and tell Nessarose to get ready right away and, if you don't mind, tell her what's happened: that Boq's father has arrived in Munchkinland, and that she's likely to become Boq's wife."

"I hope with all my heart she will!" Crope exclaimed, nudging the real Boq and earning a swift and painful ribbing for his risk.

"Forget about your heart and get busy." Tibbet demanded, sending a sulking Crope off to see to his duties. "Signior Frexspar, shall I lead the way? You'll be welcome, though dinner will probably be only one course. We'll make it up to you on our wedding day!" The man promised.

"I follow you." Frexspar said happily, leading the the merchant and Tibbet off to Boq's accommodation in Munchkinland.

For a moment, Boq watched the men leave, their vivid cloaks disappearing amidst the dust and crowds of the midday markets. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Crope. He had snuck round the house and rejoined his master, having prepared the sparse meal for Frexspar's enjoyment with Tibbet before they had left. His true duty had not yet begun.

"Cambio?" The servant teased, playfully using his master's false name. Boq did not correct the mistake, thinking it safer than to risk a wall listening in and revealing the truth to her sister, the floor. It would not do to have the resident of Colwen Grounds walking on such a lie.

"What is it, Crope?" Boq sighed.

"You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?" He asked, meaning Tibbet.

"What about it?"

"Nothing. It's just that he left me here behind to interpret his signs and signals."

"I pray thee, moralize them." Boq told him, though he was well aware of the servant's intentions, he was in the dark as to the meaning of the false arrangement.

"Here's the deal: we're safe on the Frexspar front. He's talking with the bogus father about the bogus son." The man explained.

"And what of him?"

"You are to bring his daughter to the supper."

"And then?"

"The old priest at Saint Luke's Church is at your command at all hours."

Boq grinned, and laughed gladly. "And what of all this?" He asked, waving his hand where the false men had stood, reasoning out their false bargain and playing their false hands.

"I don't know, except they are busy with some phony guarantee." Crope and Boq cackled together in the street, their noises drowned out by the rattle and throng of buyers and sellers. "So go and put your stamp on the girl." Crope encouraged his master. "Go to the church: take the priest, the clerk, and some reasonably honest witnesses. If this isn't what you've been hoping for, I have no more to say except that you ought to say goodbye to Nessarose forever."

"Hear'st thou, Crope? Is it true? Do you think it shall work?" His master asked, allowing his youth to show for a moment and doubting the careful plans they had lain.

Crope tutted, unsure but determined. "I can't stay. I knew a girl who was married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit. It could happen to you." He said, not entirely confident in the truthfulness of his story, but then their whole stay in the city had been nothing but a falsehood and so one more good-natured lie would do no harm. "Farewell, sir. My master has instructed me to go to Saint Luke's to tell the priest to be ready in case you should show up with your better half." At that, Crope slapped his master's back for good luck and made off to the church.

"I may." Boq said to himself quietly as he re-entered the house. He began to consider Nessarose's feelings on the matter for the first time. He hoped she would go for the idea. "She will be pleased." He reasoned. "Then why am I worried? Oh well, whatever. I'll ask her straight out. It will be hard if _Cambio_ loses her." He laughed.

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_A secret banter session with Fiyero for every review ;)_


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